


The Red Macula

by idyll



Series: After the Opera [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Canon, Gen, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-18
Updated: 2003-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:55:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tara is settled on the Hellmouth once again. Faith has some undetermined problems, Spike comes back with a surprise, and there's a crises in Sunnydale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Prologue**

I'm dreaming.

I'm sitting on bench, and my hand is being crushed. I cry out from the pain, knowing that I have to take it, because I can't give this crazy hellgoddess what she wants. Then my mind is not mine anymore, and I give her what she wants because I'm hers.

I'm back in my head again. My lover is dead, and I'm trying to pretend that I don't have the memory of killing her, even though I do and even though I can feel her magic churning within me. Spike is carrying me from Glory's tower, despite his injuries and exhaustion, and I want nothing more than to have not survived.

I'm lost within myself and so are Dawn and Giles. Everyone else is gone, and I want to know what happened to the others, but I already know what happened to Willow and that's enough. Only Spike remembers that our grief doesn't stop what goes on in the rest of the world, the rest of this town, and he does what we can't because of a promise he made.

I'm at Willow's grave, trying to find her and reach her, still not wanting the truth to be true, and Spike comes to get me as usual. That mismatched magic in me doesn't react to him and I curl on top of him and rest, just rest.

I'm at a mental hospital and there is a man trying to find out where Willow's power went, because his demon boss wants it for himself. I pull myself together by force of will alone and leave the place that has been my escape.

I'm globetrotting with Spike, gathering clues and insight and components for a ritual that will keep anyone from getting Willow's power. The truth gets harder to avoid and I've almost fallen apart by the time we return to Sunnydale.

I'm in the middle of the ritual and about to break under the stress of facing what I've done, and a mirage appears before me, tempting me down a path that I shouldn't tread. Spike is there, a voice of reason that penetrates my grief-stricken haze, and I can see clearly again.

I'm admitting, finally, that I was the one who took Willow's life, and then she's there. My darling Willow, brought back to this world in all of her corporeal glory by the one who rules the destiny of the dead. She forgives me, she loves me, and she takes her power back from me.

I'm outside of the building that Giles used to live in, standing next to Spike. He's leaving, and as much as I want him to stay, I know he has to go.

I'm dreaming, and I'm with Willow. She's holding my hand as we walk from scene to scene. We do this a lot, me and this figment Willow of my dreams.

"When Xander and I were young, I hated horror movies," she tells me. "I couldn't watch them."

We're still walking, and there is nothing around us, just empty, void space. But Willow's at my side and that's all that matters right now.

"I'd squeeze my eyes shut really tight and put my hands over my face." She leans towards me and admits, from the corner of her mouth, "If there were sounds, I'd bury my head against the couch so I couldn't hear, either."

"They're scary," I say. "Especially since we know that it's not all made up."

"Xander would pull my hands away, to try to make me watch," Willow remembers. "But I was too scared. He really wanted me to partake of them with him, so he spent an entire summer helping me get over it. First, he would let me close my eyes, but I'd have to listen. Then he'd turn the volume down, so that I could watch it without sound. Then it was both."

She slows us to a stop and I notice we're in the living room of the apartment that I share with Faith. The one that used to be Giles'. "Before school started again, I was able to watch a movie from start to finish, with minimal eye closing."

I already know this. She told me one Halloween when Xander gathered us all for a horror movie fest. But I never made the connection between that story and what she and I do in my dreams. She's been taking me through it all, over and over again, until I could remember it all with only minimal eye closing. Or, rather, I've been taking myself through it.

"Will, I'm worried," I tell her as we sit on the couch. Faith comes through the door, taking off her shoes and jacket before heading straight for the kitchen.

Willow gets this pouty look on her face that used to make me scoot closer and kiss her. It still does, and when we break apart she rolls her eyes. "It was a good kiss, but not good enough to make me forget that you've become great friends with my mortal enemy," she complains.

"Hey," I chide her. "She's changed, and you know it."

"Fine, fine," she grumbles.

The door opens again, and this time Spike walks in. He moves like a zombie, stiff and strained, and his face is blank and empty. He goes to the center of the room and stands there, as though waiting for something.

Faith comes out of the kitchen, a plate of food in her hands, and she sees Spike. Frowning, she walks to him and brings a bite of chicken parmesan to her mouth. "What are you doing here?" she asks him while she chews.

"I don't know," he answers flatly. "What are you doing here?"

"It's what I've gotta do, you know?" she answers honestly.

There are footsteps on the stairs, and I turn to see Faith's Watcher, Olson, and his boyfriend, Josh, come rushing down the steps. Spike jerks his chin in our direction. "I meant, what are you doing here with them?"

"There you are, Faith, we were so worried," Olson exclaims. "Are you all right?"

"Where've you been?" Josh adds.

Faith and Spike stare at each other. "You should answer them," Spike suggests.

Faith shrugs. "If I answer them, they'll just ask something else. It's a fucking vicious cycle."

"So why are you here with them if they ask you so many questions?" he asks again.

"Because not answering is better than not being asked," she says immediately.

Everyone is gone, suddenly, and it's just Willow and me again. She's looking at the spot where Faith was standing. "Do you think you guys will ever stop asking?" Willow wants to know.

"Maybe," I confess. "She's, uh, really good at making you want to stop."

Her eyes flicker to me. "It's been a while since you've heard from Spike," she says idly.

I nod. "Since three days after he left."

"Sometimes things just settle on their own," Willow reminds me.

I shake my head. "But most of the time they don't," I say sadly.

*

**Chapter One**

I know this isn't a good idea. In fact, I've never been more positive about anything in my life.

Sneaking a peek at Olson and Josh, I see the same knowledge in their eyes. The Watcher is staring at the table, his face tight. He's trying to figure out how to say it's a bad idea without making Faith mad. Josh simply looks panicked.

We're at my and Faith's apartment, sitting at the dining table just under the cutout that looks into the kitchen. It's exactly big enough for the four of us, but there's a leaf we can insert when there are additional guests. Which there generally aren't. None of us seem to socialize all that much outside of our little group.

As one, they guys turn to me, pleading silently for intervention. I wouldn't say that I'm the peacemaker of our little group. More like...the one who can phrase the truth in the best way, with the softest voice, and blinking the wide eyes that equate getting mad at me with kicking a puppy. At least, that's what Josh told me last week. I don't know if it's true, but I'm about to test his theory.

I sigh and clear my throat. "Um, Faith?"

She looks up from the book she's studying, head tilted cockily to the side. "Yeah, babe?"

"This is, um, a bad idea?" I say. It sounds like a question, and I bite my lip. I'd meant it to come out a little more firmly than that.

She frowns, her head tilting to the side. "Bad idea? The fuck it is. It's solid, Tara."

Faith isn't stupid. She thinks that she is, because she never got to finish high school, but I think she believes that knowledge is the same as intelligence, and it's not. Plenty of people know a lot of things, but they're not smart. Faith is. The only thing that might make someone question that is that she tends to jump without looking. But she'll only do it once. The problem with that is that she has to take a fall to learn the lesson, and sometimes falls can hurt.

"Sweetie, you're not domestic," I say, meeting her eyes. "I really don't think you should try to tackle--" I lean forward and read the title on the page she's looking at. "--Chocolate Truffle Torte." The question that I know is on all of our minds slips out without my meaning it to. "And why were you watching, um, Martha Stewart Living anyway?"

It turns out this is a good thing. Faith gets embarrassed when she's caught doing "girly" things, and despite the fact that she announced she wants to make this torte, she still squirms uncomfortably at the question. "There was nothing else on, all right?" she mutters. "And since you're getting Christmas, I figured there should be chocolate."

There's a huge chunk of vulnerability in Faith that I get soft over. She doesn't let it out often, and when she does, I'm a sucker for it. Which was why I started this whole Christmas thing. Sure, I've kind of let her believe it's for me, but only out of necessity. Sometimes the tough people just need an excuse to be all mushy and. When I found out that she doesn't have even one good Christmas memory, and decided that it was about time she got a few, I had to find a way to become the excuse.

After a day or two of thought, I casually reminded her that I spent last Christmas in a mental institution. It didn't really take much more than that to start her on this holiday campaign, though now I'm wondering if maybe I should have insisted on organizing it from the get-go.

Josh and Olson apparently agree with that thought; they're glaring at me right now. I kind of understand where they're coming from. Faith in the kitchen is something I don't want to contemplate if she's using an appliance other than the microwave. She's easily distracted and I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that a fire might result.

"Chocolate," I repeat. She's looking anywhere but at the three of us. I've been living with her since I came back to Sunnydale, staying in Spike's old room, and I've gotten to know her pretty well. She's about to do an abrupt about-face.

"Look, you're right. It's stupid," she says brusquely. "I don't know what I was thinking."

I'm not so soft that I'll let her in the kitchen, but... "I think we can manage chocolate," I say quietly. "In fact, I think it'll be perfect. We couldn't have chocolate at the hospital; something about getting us worked up."

I look at Olson and Josh, just a quick, skittish, upwards glance. They are apparently not into kicking puppies because they look resigned. Faith is back to being the ringleader for my Christmas. Perfect.

Reevaluating my original plan, I divvy up the Christmas tasks. Olson and I will be doing the food and the all-important torte. I assign Josh and Faith with getting everything we'll need to have a festive--yet decorous--apartment. Neither Olson nor Josh seems overly pleased about any of this. They're both Scrooges to begin with, and I also think they find holiday cheer to be, um, tacky.

Personally, I think that's the whole point. I also think that we're all in desperate need of holiday cheer of the tacky variety. Faith and I traded war stories one night. I think hers are worse. She thinks mine are. Either way, we bonded over them and a carton of Haagen Daaz Swiss Almond Vanilla ice cream. By morning we understood each other a little better, and were left with a carton of vanilla ice cream that no longer contained even a single chocolate covered almond.

The guys haven't shared their stories, but they don't have to. If Josh or Olson have any family to speak of, they don't. We're all we have. Dawnie and Giles are removed from things nowadays and none of us know if we'll ever see Spike again.

With Christmas sorted out, we settle down to the purpose of our little get together: dinner. Which is sitting on the kitchen counter getting colder by the minute. Josh literally pushes me back into my chair when I try to stand up, and strolls into the kitchen to bring it in.

The meal is dominated by Faith and Josh, who bicker like siblings and debate the merits of the latest underground techno release they got last week; Faith thinks it's uninspired while Josh thinks it's brilliant. Olson and I are sitting across from each other, and we grin at one another and let them go at it. I guess we're kind of the adults to Faith and Josh's children.

Of course, that's kind of an ooky sentiment since Josh and Olson are, um, together. I guess it's better to say that we're the mature ones. Tonight we're left to act as the audience to the immature ones.

It's nice for us to all be together when there's nothing bad going on, and I use the opportunity to simply watch.

Josh is just about the prettiest man I've ever seen. He's a study of complimenting brown coloring. His smooth, porcelain-like skin is carefully tanned in a booth so that it perfectly accents his light brown hair, which he has cut so that it falls onto his face _just so_ and lends him an ingénue quality. Pale brown eyes shine against the darker browns of his hair and skin, and are rimmed with lashes so thick that women have stopped him in the street and asked if he uses mascara.

He's got these full lips, fleshy cheeks and delicately arched brows, but because of the strong jaw line, his features are saved from seeming feminine. Still, they're more pretty than they are handsome, which is just the way he likes it.

It's not just what's above the neck that's pretty. Josh spends a lot of time at the gym doing all manner of new and trendy exercises that keep his long-limbed body strong but not too muscled. Bulging muscles would interrupt the line of his clothes, he once told me. I'm not really sure what that means, exactly, but the end result is a streamlined runner's physique that he assures me is just made for see-through shirts and low riding pants.

Olson, on the other hand, is attractive in an altogether different manner. His features are rather aquiline and refined in appearance, the result of his wealthy, good looking family marrying into other wealthy, good looking families for several generations. His eyes are a muddy green that seem really dark and opaque against his bronze skin, and he keeps his golden hair cut conservatively.

Unlike Josh, he isn't averse to muscles, though they're not outrageously bulging. His shoulders are broad, and his chest is wide and well defined. I've seen him without a shirt a time or two, during training sessions with Faith, and he's got abs that a lot of people spend thousands of dollars on goofy gadgets to get. He doesn't use any gadgets, though, just does something like a thousand crunches a day. My abdomen hurts just thinking about it. Faith says that he's got arms to die for, and I guess I have to admit they are nice to look at, with their sinuous curves and dips. But they really don't do anything for me.

They make a wonderful couple despite that, at thirty-two, Olson is twelve years older than Josh. It makes me smile to see how demonstrative the usually reserved Olson can be with Josh, and it's charming how Josh will sometimes just fuss and fret over Olson. They genuinely love one another and both of them have been around the block enough to know how rare a relationship like that can be.

I was actually a little creeped out when Spike first told me that Faith's Watcher was gay. Sounds strange since I'm gay and all. But the only Watcher I'd ever known was Giles, and suddenly all I could see in my head was a gay Giles. Which wouldn't have been all that creepy, except that things just kind of went where I really didn't want them to go after that. Giles and, um...lube are two things that I really never needed to think about in the same thought, what with him being a father figure and all. I still feel kind of unclean.

But the fact is, Giles and Olson are nothing alike. There's the most obvious difference of nationality. Olson is as American as they come and he doesn't believe in keeping a stiff upper lip. He's also a lot more laid-back than Giles is, as long as there isn't something pressing that needs to be handled. There's the age difference, as well. Ten years make a big difference. Around Giles, I always feel like a child, but with Olson there's no question that I'm an adult. He's more of a peer than an authority figure, but he can still easily command our respect.

Faith in this setting is nothing like what I heard about from Willow and the others, or what I briefly experience when she switched bodies with Buffy. She's relaxed and easy-going, trading jabs with Josh and laughing over silly things. There's nothing of the intense, troubled girl she once was, with the dark streak that couldn't be contained. I've seen her come even more out of her shell since I've been living with her, and I think she's just amazing and strong.

When we finish eating, Olson helps me clear the table and Faith heads out for patrol. Once the kitchen has been cleaned up, Josh and Olson begin to gather their belongings. On the way out, Josh pulls me into a hug, then steps back and winks.

"You're doing a good thing for her, Witchy McWitch," he says approvingly, and I know he's talking about my Christmas scheme.

He trips out the door, and Olson rubs his hand along my arm and admits, "He's right. She needs it."

Actually, in the grand scheme of what Faith needs, this is nothing. A mere crumb compared to a loaf of bread. Sometimes I worry that it's not humanly possible to give her what she needs, but I keep trying. The guys do their part too, but the opportunities arise more frequently for me because we share the apartment.

Olson gestures at Josh to wait a minute, and then he steps back inside and closes the door. "Tara," he says softly. "You are probably one of the most caring and nurturing people I've ever met."

He smiles and takes my hand. Olson isn't an overly touchy-feely person, but sometimes he'll go a little crazy. "I don't think any of us knew how much we needed that until you came along," he admits, and then gives me a solemn look. "But you're putting too much pressure on yourself."

When it comes to Faith, he means. He's right, and I know it. My hand tightens around his and I don't know what there is to say on the subject. We both know that not doing anything is out of the question.

"Do you have another suggestion?" I ask Olson, knowing that he doesn't. I squeeze his hand again before telling him to take Josh home.

*

Three days later I'm patrolling with Faith. This isn't common occurrence. Faith says she prefers patrolling alone, but I've heard that Spike used to go with her a lot. I think it's more that Faith is worried that she won't be fast enough, or good enough, to keep one of us from being hurt.

Olson will pull rank and go with her despite her objections. To observe her, he says. It's more like he's concerned about how much time she has to spend killing things by herself. That's not good for anyone. Josh is totally banned from going with her unless it's an emergency that requires everyone to take up a weapon. He might be allowed out with her more often once he actually gets the black belt in Tai Kwon Do that he's been trying to get for months now. Oh, and when he can hit a bulls eye with a stake eight out of ten times.

The only reason I've been granted permission to come along every two weeks, even though I'm four for ten with the stakes on a good day, is because I can protect myself with magic to an extent. When Willow's power was in me, I annihilated about twenty vampires with one word and sent demons crawling away from me with tears in their eyes. But I called Willow from the dead, and she took the power back with her to wherever she is. What I'm capable of is infinitely less powerful than that.

Olson at one point suggested that I develop my magic further, along the lines of what Willow had done. That's when I found out that Giles doctored some of his Watcher's reports towards the end. I had to explain to Olson what I only vaguely remembered hearing about and seeing. That Willow's power had grown so exponentially because she tapped into black magic to take Glory on after I was attacked. That I felt the darkness of it when it was passed on to me when Willow died.

I'm a natural witch. The innate magic I have can grow stronger, but there will always be limitations because white magic is governed by boundaries that black magic isn't. I won't traverse that path. Living with Willow's magic was enough to take away any temptation I might have ever had. Destruction was so easy when it was with me, so alluring. Chaos and death should never be so effortless.

So I can parlay a dozen parlor tricks into something useful, and I've gotten not-so-horrible at self-defense thanks to lessons Faith gives me when she's bored and there's nothing interesting on television. (She thinks that maybe I'll be ready to progress to offensive moves in about twenty years.) Thus, I am worthy of huffing and puffing my way through gloomy cemeteries with a hyper Slayer bounding ahead of me, excess energy just crackling off of her.

We're on our final cemetery of the evening and we're getting ready to head to the Bronze. The kitchen doesn't close for several more hours and we're going to stuff our faces with cheeseburgers and hot wings. After that, Faith will probably hit the dance floor like a one-woman party and I will put my feet up on her vacated chair and revel in not moving. She'll most likely bounce back over long enough to encourage me to go talk to the pretty Asian woman in my European History class. Her name is Liann, and she seems to spend all of her free time at the Bronze and she also seems to makes it a point to flirt with me every time she sees me.

I don't know if I'm ready for anything yet, but Faith doesn't realize that not everyone can just "get their rocks off" without any strings attached. Since I can't, I just acknowledge Liann's interest without leading her on.

But before all that, there's some trouble to take care of. Namely, the ten vampires that have just come out of nowhere and surrounded us. Literally out of nowhere. One second they weren't there, and the next second they were.

"This isn't good," Faith mutters at my side. No, it really isn't.

Further discussion of the badness is put on hold when the vamps come at us, all at once. I dodge out of the way, standing behind a tombstone and start casting my parlor tricks, my hands tracing through the air calmly as I study the situation. Immobilizing ten at once is too much, so I confuse the ones on the outer edge of the fight, and freeze two close to Faith. She dusts the two by her in three seconds flat, and takes out two more vampires who are stumbling around with glazed looks in their eyes.

Another shakes the cobwebs out of his head and comes for me. The shield I hastily erect isn't very strong, but it doesn't have to be. Faith is on him before he can punch through it, and then there's nothing but small grains of dust left in his place.

There are five left now and I'm more comfortable with those odds. I hold off on any more casting, because Faith actually likes pummeling them. Just a few minutes later there are no vamps left. Faith spins around, a wide grin on her face.

"Hella fun," she laughs.

There's something undeniably primal about Faith at times like these. It's like she's in touch with forces the rest of us aren't. Her urges are in her eyes for everyone to see, unabashedly acknowledged and heeded. She's raw and sensual and violent and soft all at once, and it makes my skin tingle. I feel sly and female, and capable of just about anything.

She runs to me, stopping on the other side of the headstone and staring at me with dark eyes. I'm laughing for some strange reason, and she's grinning with some kind of animal satisfaction. She reaches over to lift me to her side of the grave marker, and then we're running fast and hard. I'm not out of breath at all because there are times when that energy of hers is tangible. In these moments, everything is right in the world because we're women and we're strong and we've just, um, kicked ass.

Faith sees them before I do. She quickens her stride for two steps and then tugs my hand so that I'm behind her. I slam into her frozen form and she doesn't even wince. She's like a wall that I bounce off of with a pathetic "oomph" noise. I release her hand and peer over her shoulder, and I exhale every bit of air from my lungs in a show of surprise.

There are four men in front of us. One of them isn't actually here. I can tell because the light from the moon shines through him when he steps out of the shadows. He is ancient. An old so old that I can see the millennia in his forest green eyes, even in astral form. Hair as dark as shadows falls to his shoulders, parted carelessly down the center, the ends touching a black leather cord that hangs around his neck. From the leather dangles a circle of obsidian, and there is a dog carved or painted on it.

He is Khentimentiu, and some believe him to be a god. He denies this, but I have my doubts. Sure, he may say that he was simply a shapeshifter who was called into a post by the Powers that Be, who then also made him a vampire so that he could more easily rule the destiny of the dead, but... Let's just say that there are sharp secrets buried deep in the soft moss of his eyes.

The men, who are actually corporeal, are his Keepers. Spike said they registered as human to him, but I also doubt this. If they are human, I'd say that they've been given some extra abilities to better able them to protect Khentimentiu.

Mosi is the de facto leader of the three. He has dark brown hair, and the same moss green eyes that Khentimentiu has. There are several gold hoops in each of his ears that don't look the least bit feminine when paired with his bare, muscled chest.

Gahiji doesn't talk much, and I've always gotten the feeling that he is truly the muscle of the three. I don't know if there is a word for how dark he is, how black his skin and hair are. Sometimes, the light reflects blue off of him. Khentimentiu's hair is the same black as Gahiji's, but of a different texture.

Lisimba is the third, and he's kind of my favorite. Less businesslike than the others. There's something soft and nice in his eyes, and there really shouldn't be because he's like a big cat. The bronze sun-kissed color of his skin matches Khentimentiu's, and set against his tawny hair and amber eyes, I can only think of the lions that I've seen on The Learning Channel. He's always relaxed, like he's sunning on a rock, but lions can jump into action pretty fast according to TLC.

Faith knows who they are. When I performed the Cerno, the ritual to get rid of Willow's magic, Khentimentiu was there. I had to call upon him and ask that he bring her back, as flesh and blood, with her soul intact. He did that, and he let me have a few minutes with her before I got around to asking her to take her magic from me. Faith's more than capable of putting two and two together and realizing that the three men are his Keepers.

So Faith knows who they are, but she's still wary. And with good reason, because Khentimentiu once implied that vampires--being the undead--were under his dominion, and we just had ten of them appear out of thin air.

"_Nefer_, it's a pleasure as always," Khentimentiu intones, bowing gracefully. _Nefer_, he told me when we first met, means good or beautiful. He's something of a charmer and he always seems to be hiding a smirk when he makes me blush.

"Um, hi," I say hesitantly, waving. I look at the Keepers and smile. They dip their heads politely, and only Lisimba smiles back. "What's--why are you here?"

I don't try to step around Faith, because I know she won't let me. In fact, it's a small wonder that she's letting me speak right now. She can be a bit controlling when there's danger.

Khentimentiu raises a brow at Faith's protective posture in front of me. "I was hoping I could have a moment alone with you," he tells me politely.

"Yeah, I don't think so," Faith answers. I can feel her stiffen and I sigh. "You want to talk to her, you can do it here. In front of me." She tilts her head to the side, and there's a small pause before she amends that statement. "With me in front of her, in case another bunch of fanged fucks suddenly show up."

See, she's smart. If only she would believe it.

"If I wanted _nefer_ dead--which I most assuredly do not--then there would be little you could do to stop me, Slayer," Khentimentiu says icily

"Khentimentiu," I say quickly, forestalling whatever rude comeback Faith is about to fling at him. "What do you need to talk to me about? And why, uh, alone?"

He smiles knowingly and I'm reminded of the first time I met him, and how it was Spike I was trying to keep from angering him. I smile back at him, and chuckle a little.

"I didn't mean to ruffle your protector's feathers," he says, his face growing serious once again. "I would have chosen another time, but it's not only my schedule that had to be accommodated."

I frown in confusion. "Who else is supposed to be here?"

He doesn't have to answer my question, because it's answered by a new arrival. Proserpina, or Persephone to the Greeks, ate pomegranate seeds in the Underworld and was bound to it for life. The pomegranate in question was brought from the Underworld to Florence, the Tuscany countryside, and is guarded by a really nice woman named Marianna.

One of the perks of eating the seeds is that a person can travel through the passageways of the dead. I used them a couple of times before the Cerno nullified the effects, and it was very...strange. I felt like I was getting stretched and stretched, one half of me staying where I was until the other half of me got where I was going.

So I'm not surprised when I see half of Marianna appear, the rest of her a blur that snaps back in place when she's fully out of the passageway. She looks young, but from what she told me, she's at least centuries old. Her brown hair is long, swinging at her waist as she moves to Khentimentiu's side. It's obvious she is of Italian descent, with the strongly arched, thick eyebrows set over dark eyes. Her skin is a pale olive color, and her nose a little hooked. I find it soothing to be in her presence, but something about her raised Spike's hackles when we met her in Florence, and I've learned to trust his predator's instincts.

"Hello, Tara, it's nice to see you again," she says in English and I grimace a little. I struggled to remember Italian when I was in Florence so that we could communicate, and here I find it wasn't necessary. Her English is flawless.

Faith has tensed up again. "That's Marianna," I say quietly. "She's...um, she's the one who looks after the pomegranate. She helped me and Spike."

"If you think that's going to calm me down, then you're wrong," Faith drawls. Her voice is hard and suspicious, and I think she's probably glaring at the beings in front of us. "Because with this fun filled reunion going on, I'm wondering when that German bitch is going to show up."

That makes me flinch. In Germany, I had to get the Immortal Essence from a crone in the catacombs under Berlin. In return, she forced me to relieve my worst memory--that of coming back into my head after Glory was dead and finding Willow's body.

"It's about Spike," Khentimentiu tells me, and it's my turn to tense.

Moving suddenly, I'm able to get around Faith and take a couple of steps to the others. "What about him?" I ask, and my voice is laced with concern.

"Damn it, Tara, would you stay behind me?" Faith snaps. She grabs my arm and I pull it back to me, not breaking her grip because she's the Slayer, but surprising her with the resistance. When I turn to look at her, she narrows her eyes a little then lets go. "Or stay right there," she adds, tossing her hands up in frustration. People have begun telling me that I'm stubborn, and I think they might be right.

I look back at Khentimentiu and his Keepers and Marianna. "What about Spike?" I ask again, but I don't think they hear me because Faith speaks at the exact same time, and her voice is louder.

"Do you know why Spike left?" Faith demands of Khentimentiu, who nods. "Do you know where he is?" He nods again and she looks like she's preparing to start demanding answers.

I take a deep breath. "Faith, I need to talk to them. Please?"

"No fucking way," she says, and there's little room for negotiation in her voice. "We don't even know if he's telling the truth." She tosses her hair and gets this funny cross between a frown and a glare on her face. I call it a glown, but I've never told her this.

Her eyes move from me, and I know they've settled on Khentimentiu. The look on her face isn't pleasant. In fact, it's a little threatening. "Spike's one of ours, and we look out for our own. Tell me what's going on," she hisses at the god.

I've got this theory about Khentimentiu. I think that he's into the kowtowing he used to get when he was worshipped widely as a god. I think that's why he likes me. Every time we've met I've been submissive and...well, not _worshipful_, but I definitely give him the respect he feels he deserves. His patience with behavior to the contrary is slim at best, and Faith has just pushed every wrong button he has.

"Spike is mine," he growls at her, and when I glance at him I see his face slide into its vampiric visage. It's like none I've seen before, all twisted and garbled so that it resembles nothing human whatsoever. "I rule his destiny, create it with my will and my caprice, and his association with you is at my discretion. You will do well to remember that."

The situation has escalated and I can sense the violence brewing. Faith doesn't back down from challenges, and Khentimentiu is looking forward to an altercation; his eyes shift from the bright gold of a vampire's into something more amber and canine-like, and his lips are curled back from his fangs in a snarl.

His Keepers, flanking him, have straightened up and are inching closer. Marianna is inching further away. I'm standing in between the two and my heart is about ready to burst out of my chest, it's pounding so hard. Even though there's nothing Faith can do to Khentimentiu in his current astral form, his Keepers will treat any move she makes as a threat, and she's going to make a move.

"Stop it!" I exclaim. "Goodness, the two of you..." I don't have words that won't get both of them angry with _me_, so I sigh instead and turn so that I can look at each of them. "Khentimentiu, you could have come to me when I was alone, but you didn't. Did you expect, um, something else to happen with her here?"

That snarl is directed at me now, but logic seems to be seeping into his otherworldly eyes. Faith's lips slide into a smirk and I scowl at her. I take a moment before I speak, because dealing with Faith is akin to traversing a minefield: one must tread carefully to keep all of one's limbs, and one must prevent the minefield itself from self-destructing.

"Spike's in trouble," I remind her gently. "Khentimentiu brought Marianna with him so that we--or I--can get to him quickly." My eyebrows rise. "He's helping."

Faith rolls her shoulders, and blows out a breath. "Yeah. Okay." She looks Khentimentiu straight in the eye, no shame or embarrassment. "Sorry about that." Simple, but sincere. The god seems to find this acceptable; his face ripples and then changes back to human. He dips his head in acknowledgement and acceptance, but apparently deems the situation to be unworthy of an apology from him.

His Keepers stand down, fading into the background of the scene, of the conversation, like good bodyguards. Marianna keeps her distance, and I understand her caution.

"But there's no way I'm leaving you here alone with them," Faith announces, her voice hard as steel.

There's no arguing with that voice, and I know better than to try. I gaze imploringly at Khentimentiu, and his mouth tightens the smallest fraction before he nods stiffly. "Very well."

"What's going on?" My voice is small and afraid, and I really wish I could project the cool confidence that Faith can rather then conveying every emotion I'm feeling.

"Spike needs your assistance, _nefer_," Khentimentiu says carefully.

"What kind of assistance?" I ask him curiously.

His eyes crease in amusement. "The kind that you are infused with."

I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. "Oh. Um, all right," I say slowly, conveying my utter confusion. The god's lips twitch briefly. "But why I only me?"

He lifts a hand and tips it from side to side. "I debated for a long while on what to do for him," he confesses. "In the end, it came down to my trusting you. I've seen you and Spike together, seen what the two of you are willing to do for one another."

I fidget a little uncomfortably. That was before we both finally came to terms with the events of the fight with Glory. "Things have kind of...changed," I mutter.

"Things always change," Khentimentiu replies. I glance at him and see a very solemn look on his face. "But no matter how much you and he have changed, how much the situation has changed, one thing is the same." I wait expectantly, and he drills into me with those old eyes of his. "Spike is yours."

I blink, a little stunned. Khentimnetiu once thought that I'd tethered Spike to me with magic, which wasn't the case, but it's true that I think of Spike as mine. However, I'm more than a little confused by Khentimentiu's casual statement of this fact, given his temper tantrum when Faith said basically the same thing.

The god's eyes are still intense, and I frown as I try to figure out what makes my claim different from Faith's

I remember a warm night in Cairo, when I met the Keepers for the very first time. Khentimentiu sent himself into Lisimba and addressed me, asked me why I walked with a vampire. I told Khentimentiu that Spike was my friend, that I trusted him. All of it was, and still is, true. But at the time I didn't see that it wasn't as simple as that.

"Spike is mine?" I repeat quietly, and Khentimentiu nods. "Um, how come you're not all..." I wave my hand vaguely, not sure how to ask why he isn't growling about his will and caprice again.

There is a soft smile pulling at Khentimentiu's lips now, and his eyes are warm and gentle. When he speaks, his voice is hushed, and I know what he's going to say before he says it. "You love him."

I look away, because when he says it like that, it sounds, um, romantic. That's not how it is between Spike and I. We barely spoke to or noticed each other before that night the people we loved died. But after, in that disjointed chaos of time that followed, nothing was the same, least of all us.

During that summer, I got to see a different side of Spike. He was exhausted by everything, and none of his "I'm a big, bad vampire" shields were up. Dawn and Giles had crawled so far into their pain that they didn't notice. But I did and I reacted to it. Instead of raising those shields again, he let them go even more. Maybe because I was insane and broken, and he didn't see any harm in it. Or maybe it was because he just didn't have the energy.

As for me, insanity had stripped so very much away from me. There was very little that wasn't on display for anyone to see, but Spike was the only one who did. The more he saw, the more I showed, until he'd seen it all.

I know what he is. But I also know that he didn't have to make that promise to Buffy, or take me to the park so that I could ride the swings, or turn down blood that I freely offered him, or come after me when I went off to gather everything for the Cerno. He chose to do all of those things, and I think that him being who and what he is makes those choices all the more noteworthy.

So, yes, I love him. It's not something familial or friendly, and it's _definitely not_ the "in love with" type of love. It's something that I've never bothered trying to find words for, because I think it's a little more complicated than that.

"This is all very touching," Faith snorts, drawing my attention.

I have to keep myself from sighing loudly when I see her face. Faith doesn't know it, and would deny it to anyone foolish enough to tell her, but she's riddled with insecurities. Right now, she is taking refuge behind a façade of "I don't give a damn" because she's just learned that I love Spike, and she thinks that I don't love her. It's nonsense, of course.

She wanders a little bit away, pulling out a stake and absently tossing it up and down, no longer paying attention to even the Keepers.

I look away from Faith and smile at Khentimentiu. "Thank you," I say sincerely. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes questioning. "For letting me know he needs help, and bringing Marianna here."

His face clears and he shakes his head. "You are doing _me_ a favor," he avers. "One that I won't forget."

I take this to mean he thinks he's in my debt, but in my mind I'm the one who still owes him. He very well could have insisted that Willow and I have no interaction other than what was required when I performed the Cerno. Not to mention that he made sure Spike knew what I needed to do in order to succeed.

He doesn't say anything else, and my eyes move from him to Marianna. "Um, I need to get some stuff," I say, because I don't know if the plan was for me to leave right now. "Oh, and I have to talk to the others before I go."

"I'm in no rush," Marianna assures me.

Khentimentiu approaches me and stares at me with inscrutable eyes. His mouth opens, but then his gaze flickers to Faith and he closes it again. "Good luck," he says, and then he fades from sight, and his Keepers do the same.

"Why don't you, um, call the others and have them meet us at our place?" I suggest to Faith.

"Yeah, all right," she says blandly, putting the stake away and pulling out her cell phone.

I officially introduce her to Marianna after she calls Olson and Josh--apparently interrupting them during some, um, bonding time, if I hear her end of the conversation correctly. It's going to be a real party when we get to the apartment.

"Come on, let's go," Faith says, starting down the path that leads to the entrance.

She's put her back to me while I'm with someone she doesn't trust and this time I don't bother trying to hold my sigh back. I'm only one person and I have limited resources. Worrying about Spike and soothing Faith's feelings are a little too much for me at the moment.

Marianna gives me a sympathetic look and we follow after the Slayer. Faith doesn't show any interest in lessening the distance between us, and I'm too busy thinking to strike up conversation with Marianna, so we're a silent trio.

I'm going to Spike. Josh and Olson aren't going to be happy about it, and they'll probably try to either change my mind, or get Marianna to agree to let one of them join me. Neither of those things is going to happen. In a way, Faith being in this kind of mood will help me out. She isn't going to allow herself to show any interest in the matter, and her opposition to my going will be left unvoiced.

Of course, that brings my already troubled thoughts back to her, and I raise a hand to my face and rub my forehead. Maybe I can do something to reassure her before I leave, and get her back to feeling like she did an hour ago when we were running through the cemetery. That reminds me of the vampires that appeared out of thin air. Hm. I'll be leaving the others in the middle of a possible crisis. Maybe this thing with Spike won't take long.

Sometimes I want to take up drinking.

When we get to the apartment, Olson and Josh are just pulling up in Olson's SUV.  
Grumpy doesn't even begin to cover the foul look Josh tosses in our direction, but Olson narrows his gaze first on Faith, then on me, before murmuring something to his partner. Josh frowns at us and pushes his hair from his forehead.

"What's the problem?" Olson asks Faith, his voice careful as he takes in Marianna's presence.

She grunts and starts towards the door of our apartment, knowing we'll all follow her. "Two of them, actually," she comments as she unlocks the door and turns on the living room lights. There's really no need for the lights as the decorations and tree we put up last night are bright enough, but I guess it's habit. Then again, twinkling holiday lights aren't really appropriate now that I think about it.

Faith turns to Marianna. "That's Olson and Josh," she says, pointing to each in turn. "This," she tells the guys, "is Marianna. She's the chick in charge of the seeds in Italy."

Josh and Olson put it together fast, and their eyes dart to me. I shrug nervously and duck my head, making my way to the couch and sitting down. "Um, why don't you have a seat, Marianna?"

She sits gracefully on the armchair to my left, adjusting her voluminous white gown in the process, and looks as calm as can be.

"It was a real gathering at Sunnydale Arms tonight," Faith continues, collapsing next to me on the sofa and sprawling. Josh and Olson each grab a chair from the kitchen table and try to find a place to put them. The furniture has all been squished into the center of the room to accommodate the tree and they finally have to shove the coffee table against the wall.

"A gathering?" Josh echoes. "Were there swords and shouts of there can be only one?"

Josh is something of a sci-fi, um, fanboy, I guess is the only way to put it. I've gotten drawn into marathons of several shows, and Highlander--which his pithy comment is referring to--was one of them.

Olson gives him a disapproving look and Faith just rolls her eyes. "Freaking dork," she scoffs. "No, not like that. Khentimentiu came a'calling. Along with his Keepers."

The guys are looking at me again and I know it's time for me to talk. "Um..." That's about all I manage. I have no idea where to start. Faith is in no mood to take pity on me and stays silent when I look to her for help. I start tugging on the knees of the jeans I only wear when I go patrolling.

"Wow," Josh exclaims. "That's just _fascinating_, Tara." There's a scathing look in his eyes. Josh is something of a...bitch at times, but he's slowly getting reformed because he realizes what he just said, and looks away from me quickly. Or maybe I'm just channeling a puppy again.

Olson runs a tired hand across his face. "Tara, why did Khentimentiu come to Sunnydale?" he asks reasonably.

"Um, because of...Spike," I finally manage to spit out. "I have to go see him. That's why Marianna's here. To take me. To Spike."

I haven't had this difficult a time communicating with these people in months. But there was a lot Khentimentiu didn't tell me, that I didn't bother to ask. I really have no useful information to impart.

"What's wrong with Sexy Vamp?" Josh asks, and despite the silly moniker, there's real concern in his voice. Suddenly, I'm less nervous.

"I'm not entirely sure," I say honestly. "But I'll be finding out." I glance at Marianna, then back to the Josh, and he blinks twice before his face sags.

"By yourself?" he asks tiredly, leaning back in his chair. "Tara--"

"If I may?" Marianna speaks up, garnering all of our attention. She looks from one to the next of us. "You are a very protective group, aren't you?" she muses, shaking her head. "Khentimentiu assured me there will be no danger for Tara. I wouldn't have agreed to assist him otherwise. I owe her my life," she adds.

There's an hour of discussion, most of which Faith misses because she retreats to the kitchen to eat us out of house and home. Josh is on the fence about my going alone, and Olson doesn't have a problem with it. I sit out most of it because they seem to have forgotten about me. Marianna quickly grows bored, and starts wandering through the apartment, her head tilting as she studies certain objects, like the twinkling lights on the huge tree. I remember that she was held captive for centuries by vampires who wanted unlimited access to the pomegranate from the underworld. I guess she's missed out on a lot.

When Olson finally tells Marianna that I can go, the guardian of the pomegranate raises a brow and then looks to me. "Will you be coming, Tara?" she asks archly.

It takes a lot to keep my smile hidden. So nice to know that I'm not the only one who noticed that the others just made a decision about my life without my input.

Olson looks a little abashed. "You need to tell us to shut up once in a while," he says to me, his tone rueful. "Maybe mind our own business, even."

I could tell him that I was going to go no matter what, but that would give them warning for a time in the future when I might need the element of surprise to go against their decision. They seem to have decided that my using the passageways to sneak away and perform the Cerno without telling anyone a few months ago was an effect of my being partially insane. I think it's best for our continued harmonious interaction if I allow them to go on thinking this.

"Don't worry," I say instead. "It's nice that you're all so concerned."

And it is. They really do care about me; they worry about my physical safety and my mental stability. While they can all be overbearing about it, they do eventually see reason when all is said and done.

"The vampires," I say suddenly, remembering that there were two things we needed to tell Olson. "Some just appeared out of thin air. Faith killed them, but..."

"Research," Josh supplies, nodding. He takes the research seriously, and has catalogued and indexed over half of our books and texts. He set up a complex system of index cards that I only vaguely know how to navigate, but which he can use to find information very quickly. That mind of his works like a computer, sometimes, with the way it can see the simple in the complicated.

I get to my feet. "I need to pack a bag. Do you guys need anything before I go?"

They all say no, then Olson tells me to take weapons, and Josh is at the cabinet in the corner, pulling out all manner of things that I can't use without fear of injuring myself. I pick a crossbow out of the mix and shake my head when Josh offers me a really large axe.

Marianna comes upstairs with me so that she can explore some more, and I leave her in the bathroom examining the blow dryer. I pack enough clothes for three days, carefully folding and setting them in an overnight bag that I can sling over my shoulder. At the last minute, I toss a small portable bag of sundry witchcraft items inside, then set the crossbow on top before zipping it closed.

There aren't any skirts in the bag. For a while, I wouldn't wear them at all. There were too many conversations between me and Willow about the variety of long skirts we had, too much wriggling out of said long skirts, and too many shopping trips for new ones. I've gotten past that, but I don't wear the skirts all the time. I avoid them when I'm patrolling or when I think I'm going to have to do any kind of running.

I go back to the bathroom and find that Marianna has turned the blow dryer on and is smiling delightedly as she blows the warm air across her face. "It's for your hair," I tell her. "To dry it after you wash it."

"I know," she says, frowning down at the controls. I take the dryer from her and turn it off. "I've seen them while in the passageways. But it's different to experience it firsthand."

And again I feel silly about the choppy Italian I assaulted her with in Florence. "I'm ready," I tell her.

She smoothes back the hair that was disturbed by the blow dryer and nods. "Very well. Khentimentiu asked that I also be available to bring you back home as well," she informs me.

I don't want Marianna hanging around when I'm with Spike since he doesn't feel comfortable around her. I bite my lip and try to think of a way I can let her know when I'm ready to come home. An idea comes to me and I grin at Marianna. "Want to experience a cell phone firsthand?"

Downstairs, Josh, with that sharp mind of his, spends a few minutes with Marianna showing her how to use a cell phone. Not that it takes a sharp mind to work one, but it is definitely required to instruct someone who has very little experience with electronics at all.

I listen to cautionary warnings from Olson, and sigh when Faith, now on the couch, just waves a careless hand and tells me to stay alive. She doesn't even look up from the container of leftovers she's brought in from the kitchen. I know that she's still feeling rejected, and now she's worried and angry as well. She doesn't want me going with Marianna. Not even a little. I can tell by the tight set of her jaw.

I set my bag on my shoulder and go to the couch where she's sprawled. She lets me loom over her for a long while before she finally looks up, her face a mask of disinterested boredom. "Yeah?" she asked curtly.

Leaning down, I brush my hand across her cheek and tuck some hair behind her ear. For the longest time she flinched and held herself stiff when I randomly touched her, but of late she seems to have become comfortable with it. "I'll call you when I know what's going on," I promise her.

With the touch comes a strange flicker across her features, and in her eyes, that I have yet to decipher because it only started a few weeks ago. It's gone as quickly as it came, and she shrugs. "Yeah, you do that," she replies and turns her attention back to her food.

"Be careful," I whisper, and that brings her eyes back to me. She's surprised and confused by the warning. "Don't let them catch you off guard. Please."

Her face softens the barest fraction of an inch. "They're just vamps," she assures me. "I can handle them." I'm not reassured. Regular vampires can't just manifest like the ones did earlier. I frown down at her and she rolls her eyes. "I'll be extra alert, all right?"

"Good," I say with a nod.

I look at the others, and I don't realize that I'm still frowning until Josh comes over and puts his thumbs on the center of my forehead, trying to coax the frown line away. "Stop it, or you'll get wrinkles," he advises me. "We'll call you if we think we're going to need some mojo." He moves behind me and gives me a gentle nudge in Marianna's direction. "Go see Spike."

The boy can be really sweet when he wants to be.

Marianna reaches into a fold in her robe and holds up a pomegranate seed. She drags a finger through the outer coating, gathering some of it on the tip, and then brings her hand to my lips. So very gently, she brushes the juice along my bottom lip, and my tongue snakes out to taste. Out of the corner of my eye I can see a passageway, right in the middle of the living room. I take her hand and we step inside.

It's disconcerting, to say the least. A part of me stays in the living room, watching the others trade worried glances, and part of me is rushing through the passageway. With Marianna holding my hand and guiding us, I don't have to think of a destination; I can simply relax and pass through the lives of hundreds of people. It makes me feel small, unimportant, to see all of these people in their private moments.

Before I know it, Marianna is helping me out of the passageway and I wobble on my feet a little as I adjust to having both halves of myself together again.

I look around curiously. We're in a rather filthy hallway, just in front of a beat up wooden door. This isn't really where I expected to be. I thought we'd be going to a demon bar, where Spike would be in some sort of trouble or another. I don't know if this dirty residence is better or worse.

"He's inside," Marianna says softly, motioning towards the door. "Do you want to know anything?"

Actually, I don't. I'd rather go in without anyone else's thoughts or opinions in mind. "No, thanks," I say. "Do you have the phone?" She again reaches into her robe, this time withdrawing the cell phone for me to see before she secrets it away again. "I'll call when I'm ready."

She nods sedately and gives me an encouraging smile before sliding into the passageway. I wait until she's completely out of sight before turning to the door. Perhaps I should have asked if he was alone, or if there were...bad guy types in there. But Marianna assured us I wouldn't be in danger, so I have to assume he's in there alone. Taking a breath, I bring my hand to the doorknob and turn it.

"You really don't want to do that, mate," I hear him growl from the other side of the door.

"Yes, I do," I reply loudly so that he'll know who it is. Then I push the door open wide so that it bounces off the wall behind it.

It takes a moment before my eyes adjust to the darkness on his side of the door. What I see isn't reassuring. The room he's in is littered with garbage and is filled with an unpleasant odor reminiscent of infection. There's a small, wobbly table to my left, a doorway without a door to my right, and Spike directly in front of me. He's on a sagging twin bed and I can't make out any details in the dark.

I step inside and close the door behind me, then reach out and flip a light switch on the wall. A bare bulb hanging from a chain in the center of the room lights up, the wattage low and the illumination flickering.

When I look at him, I feel myself go still. My bag slides from my shoulder and lands on the floor with a startlingly loud sound. He looks like...shit. I don't usually swear, but Faith is something of a bad influence, and what I'm seeing is so shocking and unexpected that I'm at a loss.

I wouldn't even be able to guess at when he last, um, ate. He's emaciated. His skin is sagging in wrong places, stretched tight in other wrong places, and so very translucent. That alone would have made my stomach churn, but the rest is what has me frozen in place. His face has been clawed open, and the entire right side is just raw. A black t-shirt hangs off of him in shreds and there's a long, deep gash across his stomach. The rest of his torso is black with bruises, and there's something unnatural in the way his left leg is laying on the bed. The light flickers again, and I realize that his leg is broken and a bone is protruding from his thigh.

I remember how he looked after Glory got him, and this is worse. So much worse.

I can't move. I can't even _try_ to move. All I can do is stare at him. My chest feels full, like something has swelled, and my limbs are heavy, laden. My eyes are wet with tears, and they're distorting my vision. Maybe if I blink just right, my sight will clear and I'll find Spike sitting there, whole and healthy.

I know that I won't happen, though. I know this is real.

But it shouldn't be. I don't know that I have it in me to think that anyone deserves this, but there are those who deserve it more than Spike does. Far more.

When I finally meet his eyes, they may me just...hurt. They're empty. Nothing is there as he sits up in that bed, staring at me. "What are you doing here?" he asks tonelessly.

His words release something, and I can move again. I step around several empty alcohol bottles and get halfway to him before I stop. Should I keep going, or have things changed so exorbitantly that I should turn around and leave? I fidget and start to say something several times, but no words come out.

"Go home, Tara," he sighs, falling onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. "Nothing you can do."

"I didn't come here to _do_ anything," I deny softly. He raises his scarred brow. "I just thought I'd, um, stop by and see..."

He turns his head to the side. "And see what? This?" He waves at his battered body. "Didn't know you liked that sort of thing."

I want to leave because I'm honestly not prepared to deal with this. I shouldn't have come barreling in here without any details, a plan or anything. My body sags and I drag myself to the bed and sit next to his broken leg. My hands are in my lap and I stare at them for a long while.

"So, how's the soul working out?" I ask in a rush, and Spike bolts into a sitting position. Well, at least I've got his attention now.

* 


	2. Chapter Two

"So, how's the soul working out?"

Long moments of silence follow my statement. Spike is gaping at me, and I realize that I'm not above getting a small bit of satisfaction at having caught him so off guard. Though, I'm not sure if Spike really didn't know that I knew, or if he's just surprised at how I said it. Finally, his mouth snaps closed and he sinks back onto the bed.

"Khentimentiu told you," he mutters from his prone position.

"Yeah," I agree. "Um, before you even knew, actually." That's got him sitting up again, and this time I see the shudder of pain that ripples across his body as he does so. "It was one of the things that he talked around in Cairo," I explain. "It...clicked after what happened with you and Dawn."

He laughs harshly and leans forward, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't see a need to let me in on it, did you?" he asks bitterly. "Because I had no bloody idea."

I study his hunched form and sigh. We used to let lies like this slide, but that was before, so I say, "Sure you did."

He turns his head to the side, once piercing blue eyes now dull and lifeless. "That wanker sent you."

I nod slightly. "Mm. He said...he thought you could use a friend."

"Go home," he tells me again, but I shake my head, thinking back to when he found me in that hotel room in Cairo.

"I didn't haul my...arse to wherever the heck we are for--for shits and giggles," I deadpan. "And, uh, your head is crooked if you think I'm just walking away."

It takes him a moment to remember the words he said to me those months ago in Egypt. I can actually see him close himself off even further, see him shrink back from his skin and distance himself. But I'm not going anywhere, and Spike doesn't seem to be strong enough to even verbally attack me at the moment. I think he's going to ignore me, if his lying down and closing his eyes is anything to go by.

I still don't have a plan, but for the moment I don't need one. Whatever I end up doing, I'm not about to let him sit there injured the way he is. He needs blood. There's a small dormitory size refrigerator at the foot of the bed, and I go to it and open the door. I close it almost immediately, a hand quickly coming to my face to cover my nose. Wow. That's where that infection stench is coming from. Okay. Even if there is blood in there, I'm not about to let him drink it. No way. Yuck.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me where the local demon bar is?" I ask softly, kind of hoping he will, but knowing that he probably won't.

The eye on the uninjured side of his face opens. "I don't suppose you can still make demons run for the hills?" he parries.

He knows as well as I do that that particular trick came with Willow's power. So I take it to mean that he's not going to tell me.

I don't think he's given up or anything, which sounds strange since he's obviously not been eating. But I think that has more to do with his injuries and lack of mobility than any desire to waste away.

The lack of mobility limits my options. He won't be able to come out with me right now to accompany me to whatever demon bar that he frequents, but whose location he won't volunteer. In fact, my options are pretty much non-existent at the moment. I sit next to him on the bed again, and his hand snakes up to grab my wrist when I try to touch his face.

"Don't." His voice is almost desperate, and I close my eyes briefly.

"All right," I say quietly and tug my hand away. I sigh, not as quietly as I could, and make a small noise at the back of my throat. "Spike, please. We need to get you some blood," I tell him plaintively.

"Bloody headstrong witch," he murmurs with exasperation. His eyes open again and he glares at me. "This has nothing to do with you."

"The Cerno had nothing to do with you, either," I rejoin, arching a brow.

"Knew I was going to get punished for that," he grumbles. "I'm fine, all right?"

That he would dismiss his injuries like that just angers me. I once told him that I wouldn't let him treat himself like a thing, and I meant it. The anger is just what I need to realize a plan, and I reach out to his face again, and again he grabs my wrist. I twist my hand in his grip until my wrist is turned up and on display.

"You need blood," I tell him slowly, and his eyes widen when he realizes what I'm saying. He lets go of me quickly and presses himself against the mattress. "You can either tell me where to get some, or you can take mine."

There's something reminiscent of a cornered animal in him; his eyes are wide and skittish, a little wild around the edges, and he's started to tremble. It breaks my heart even more, but I keep the point of this in mind. It's not easy; I'm not really made for "tough love".

"Where is the demon bar?" I ask him lowly.

"Get the hell out of here. Now."

I keep my voice as steady and unemotional as I can. "The choice is yours, Spike."

He remains silent, and I don't hesitate at all before implementing the next part of my plan. When my elbow slams against the bone sticking out of his thigh, he screams loudly, his body pulling itself once again into a sitting position. His face has slid into its demon visage, and I lift my hand and sketch the air, murmur under my breath, and then he can't move. I caught him in the middle of the scream, and his mouth is still open, his fangs accessible.

"The choice is yours," I tell him again, watching his eyes carefully. They're shooting daggers at me, and I know he's not going to back down. He thinks I won't do it. Because there's nothing with which to cut my skin, and I'll have to use his fangs, which will hurt him. He doesn't think I'll go that far, but he doesn't realize that it's the lesser of two evils at the moment.

"And you say I'm the stubborn one," I grumble, pulling up the sleeve of my shirt and moving up on the bed. He's so helpless and broken that I soften and touch the unmarred side of his face. "You didn't let me, and I'm not going to let you," I whisper.

He's trying to struggle against the immobilization spell. A vampire of Spike's strength can break the spell pretty quickly, as I once found out the hard way. But he's not in the best of shape and it'll hold as long as I need it to.

I raise my hand and set my wrist against his fangs. A part of me wonders what the heck I'm doing, if I've gone a little crazy again. Maybe I have. I'm not sure. But it's the right thing to do, and it's what he needs. I bite my lip and push my wrist forward, flinching and hissing when his fangs slide into my skin. His body jerks and I know that the chip has just fired, but I can't let myself think too much about that.

Pulling back, I let the blood drip into his mouth. Whether it's the pain of the chip, or the taste of my blood, that does the trick doesn't matter. What matters is that when I look at him, there's only the demon behind his yellow eyes. I can hear his throat working convulsively, and I lift the spell from his head and neck. His head dips, and his lips close around the wound and then he's drinking me down.

I shift closer and pet his hair, humming a tune my mom used to use whenever I was upset. There are sounds emanating from his throat that I've only rarely heard. Desperate growls and satisfied snarls. I think he wants to tear into me, but he knows the chip will go off again. I hum a little louder and murmur nonsense and he settles down just a little.

It's like a lull, sitting there with him attached to my arm, a lull in space and time and life, but I keep myself from falling into it. As much as I'd like to let him drink until he's better, I'm not bottomless. When I can't spare anymore, I free him again and draw my wrist away, and I only loosen the spell when the demon retreats a few minutes later.

Then all that's left is Spike, glaring hatefully at me. I suddenly know what it's like to be a mother, because right now his feelings and wants are completely unimportant. All that's important is _him_ and if he hates me, so be it.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that it had to be me here, at this time. Because I've learned how to be the excuse, and I've learned how to be sly, and I've learned how to be strong. Spike really doesn't stand a chance.

"You're a bleedin' idiot," he hisses at me, ripping a dangling strip of his shirt off and shoving it at me.

I take it, but decide against using it to bind my wound. It doesn't look or smell all that clean, really. Instead, I press the bite against my jeans for a moment, and then some kind of morbid curiosity has me turning my hand over. It's a small, neat bite. Only his two most prominent fangs broke skin.

In Florence, the vampire who bit my neck wasn't nearly so neat. He laid into me with his mouth wide open, then tore himself roughly away. The scar is long and wide, a highway of shiny white tissue that attests to the fact that vampires have more than two pointy teeth. They've got a mouthful of razor sharp fangs that can slice through skin like a knife through butter.

"Put pressure on it," Spike snaps at me.

Absently, I turn my wrist over again and hold the wound to my thigh. Taking stock of myself, I realize that I don't feel weak or sick, but I think I might feel both if I try to stand right now. So I'll sit and try to figure out what to do next.

I'm more than a little tempted to have Marianna bring both Spike and me back to Sunnydale. He wouldn't need to be all that mobile for the passageways, and I could get blood for him back home. But I really don't think he'll agree to that, and forcing him is out of the question; I've pretty much used up a year's worth of tough love already.

A loud cracking sound and a muffled scream bring my head swiveling to the side. Spike is leaning forward again, hands wrapped around either side of his broken thigh. He's resetting it. The bone is back inside skin, but his leg is still positioned wrong. I see him grit his teeth, and my stomach tumbles as he gives a hard jerk, and there's another cracking sound as the bones are set right.

"You've got half an hour," he grinds out from behind clenched teeth, "to recover from your stupidity. Then I'm putting you on the next plane or bus or whatever back to Sunnydale

I swallow in an effort to convince my stomach that there's no need to reject my dinner, then look at Spike innocently. "Oh. You'll be up to dragging me away, kicking and screaming, in half an hour? Impressive."

He glares at me. "Why are you here?" he asks me for what feels like the hundredth time since I arrived.

If I had an answer to that question while I was standing in front of Khentimentiu earlier, then I lost track of it.

"Because you're here," I simply tell him. Then I look around the room and grimace. "It's, uh, not because of your charming...hovel."

He laughs tiredly, sadly. "Serves its purpose."

"Hm. How far is it to get you blood?"

Poor Spike. He really wants to argue with me, rant and rave until I turn around and go back home like a good little Tara. But he doesn't have the energy and he was the first one to point out that I'm stubborn. He realizes this and shifts to the foot of the bed, glowering at me along the way. He bends over and rifles through some clothing, pulling out a clean--well, a _different_ shirt. Nothing in this place seems to be anywhere close to clean.

As he's ripping the last remaining bits of his old shirt off, I got to my bag and take out my cell phone and enter the family plan code that connects me directly to Faith's phone.

There's a certain quality to her greeting of "Hey" that tells me she's not feeling so great about how she let me leave.

"Hey yourself," I say quietly, trying to let her hear a smile. "Um, I'm all right and everything."

"Where are you?" she asks and she sounds more like her normal self again.

Now, that's a good question. I glance at Spike and see him contemplating the fresh shirt. "Haven't gotten around to asking," I reply.

"You haven't? Shit, that would've been my first question," she snorts. There's a pause, then she continues with, "Well, right after, 'why the fuck haven't you called' that is. What's the deal with him, anyway?"

Spike is still staring at the t-shirt like it holds the answer to some great cosmic mystery. "I'm not sure yet," I say vaguely.

Faith's earlier attitude is going to be nothing at all compared to how she's going to act when she finds out that I've known for months that Spike got a soul but didn't tell anyone. They've all asked me about him, more than once, and I've pretended ignorance. It wasn't necessary to out-and-out lie, but that's only because I always changed the subject and let them mistakenly believe it was too painful to talk about him.

I didn't feel like I had the right to tell anyone, so I didn't. Not even Dawn knows, and she's probably the one who needs to know the most. After Spike left, she learned that just because you can't have someone in your life doesn't mean you stop caring. She made the right choice for herself, but she still misses Spike terribly, worries a great deal about his safety.

"Yeah, well, if you need one of us or something, just say the word, all right?" she offers awkwardly.

That's the closest thing to an apology I'm likely to get and I take it readily. "Okay. Thanks. For the offer, and, um, everything."

"No prob. Olson wants you to check in a couple of times a day," she adds as an afterthought. The truth of that statement is debatable. Olson might have requested I call in, but my gut tells me it's Faith's idea and that she's just tacking Olson's name to it.

"Twice a day," I promise. "I, um, better go. Bye."

"Bye."

I end the call and slip the phone back in my bag, removing a small jar as I do so.

"You didn't tell them," Spike comments without inflection.

"Of course not." I bring the jar to him and stay his hands when he raises his arms to put the shirt on. I hold up the jar and uncap it. "Should help with the pain a little," I explain. "It's a homemade...anesthetic cream. Pretty strong. Oh, and it smells nice."

He tries to take it from me, but I brush his hands aside and kneel on the clothing at his feet. Up close, the bruises look worse. The cream is cool on my fingers, and Spike hisses a little when I brush some against his torso, taking care not to press too hard against his injuries.

"Does the other guy look worse?" I ask idly as I gather another bit of cream. Spike doesn't answer, and I don't push. His eyes follow my movements, tracking every motion with confusion and a little bit of helplessness. Like he doesn't know what I'm doing, why I'm doing it, or if he should stop me. "Is it helping?" I ask once I'm almost done with his chest.

Spike nods, his gaze narrowing. I get to my feet and sit behind him on the bed. His back is just as bad as his front, and I make a choked noise. My hand is shaking as I dip my fingers into the cream again. When I've coated his back, I stand up, and he thinks I'm finished.

Instead, I move in front of him, nudging his thighs apart so I can stand between them. He flinches and closes his eyes when I touch the cream to the places on his face that aren't cuts or gashes. A reflexive breath fills his lungs but isn't let go.

"Oh, Spike," I whisper. He flinches again, and I'm surprised I don't have a complex, what with how often people do that when I touch them.

My thoughts wander as my fingers drift across his face. I looked in the Watcher's journals after Spike left. There weren't many details about Angel's adjustment to his soul, since it hadn't really been known about for a while. All I found were precious few notes that Giles made about what Angel and Buffy told him. I suspect Spike is still being strangled by guilt. I know the feeling. If it hadn't been for Spike, I'd still be choking for air.

Despite the similarities--between both Spike and Angel, and Spike and me--the situations are completely different. Angel was cursed and lost for a long, long while. The guilt I was shouldering wasn't deserved. Spike doesn't seem lost so much as...scattered, and his guilt is deserved. Still, I can't stand seeing him like this; gasping for something he doesn't even need.

"Don't cry for me, Tara," Spike rasps out. I start at his words, then notice the tears on my cheeks. His eyes are open again, and they're clear despite the wretched emotions. Spike is in there, still. Clawing at the hands around his neck and remembering that vampires can't be killed by strangulation.

"I'll just..." I look wildly around the room, trying to blink the tears away because they won't help anything, and catch side of the doorway. "Go. In there. So that you can, um, change."

He shakes his head and gets to his feet, forcing me to back up or get knocked down. "It's not fit for anything living," he tells me. "Stay here."

I stay. And I blink. And the view doesn't change.

*

It's not until Spike is locking the door behind us that I think to ask where we are. He looks at me strangely, but then his lips twist knowingly. "Can I just shove you home through a passageway, then?" he asks as he leads me down the hall to a stairwell.

I shake my head, and he shrugs as if to say that it was worth a try, but he hadn't been all that hopeful. "New Orleans," he says suddenly.

"Oh." We walk down two flights of stairs and then come out into a narrow foyer with a door leading out to the street. "Isn't New Orleans kind of, um--" I wrinkle my nose and tilt my head. "You know."

He holds the door open for me and waves me out. "Yeah, I do, and yeah, it is," he replies and I leave it at that.

The neighborhood is full of tall, narrow buildings, but after a few blocks, space begins to develop. We change direction and we're on a wide street, with a meridian in the middle. I crane my neck up and catch sight of a street sign. Esplanade.

It smells green here, green and lush. This time of year, I guess there isn't much humidity even in the south, but I can taste in the air that it's just biding its time, waiting to roll out and smother me. I've never much liked humidity.

"I don't need saving," he say suddenly. When I look at him, he's staring down the street, frowning. I'm not sure if he means that he's all right, or that he doesn't _deserve_ to be saved. I make a small noise. "Don't give me that," he snaps.

Well. Apparently there's a demon language that Spike knows in which "Hm" translates into something other than a non-committal sound.

"I wasn't starving myself," he tells me flatly. "Or some other kind of nonsense."

I stop walking, and he doesn't notice at first. When he does, he spins around a little too quickly for his injuries and relaxes when he sees me standing there. I'm not sure what he sees on my face, but he comes back to me and tilts his head to the sky for a moment. Then his hand is on mine, and he turns it palm up and touches the bite mark on my wrist.

There's something dark, yet soft, on his features. Something that ripples across his face as he runs his fingers over the wound. Then his grip tightens a bit and he tugs me to him. I step into him and rest my head against his shoulder, inching closer until there's barely any space between us. My arms creep up to circle his waist. It's not like coming home, but it's close.

After everyone died, I couldn't stand to have anyone touch me. It had to do with Willow's power, which wouldn't "take" because her power and mine were two different beasts. I was overly sensitive to everything magical. Dawn and Giles have more than their fair share of magical energies, and it literally hurt when they got too close. Burned me raw on the inside while at the same time it sheered into every bit of my skin.

But Spike was different. I'm still not sure why. I would think that being a vampire would impart its own magical signature on him, but maybe not. Either way, he was an oasis, the only one I could touch. I don't know why he did it. Touched me, let me touch him. I think he got something out of it, but he never told me what.

So hugging him, being pressed against him is familiar. It's also a bit alien, because it was always my mother who bestowed the affection when I was growing up. And I've always known I was gay, so all intimate experiences were only with women. The hardness of his body, the strange angles and lines, feel odd for a moment. Then I remember. I remember _Spike_ and I sigh.

I pull back a little and touch his cheek. He swallows thickly and I wonder if he's been without any kind of physical touch since he left. His eyes flicker, and they're amazing. All those layers of Spike are no longer hidden away behind a carefully constructed façade.

"It's beautiful," I breathe. "_You're_ beautiful." He lowers his head until his forehead is against mine. I can feel him shudder. "I've missed you," I tell him.

My throat is getting tight, and there are tears in my eyes again. Then the tears fall, and they're not just mine. I move my arms around his neck, and his arms are around my waist. My feet leave the ground. I hum softly, threading my fingers through his hair--which is so soft and a little bit curly without the gel in it.

Finally he sets me down and steps back, face averted. "Come on, then," he says gruffly and we start walking again.

A few blocks later we come to a narrow side street, and Spike tells me to wait there and then heads down the street.

The temperature here isn't that much different than in Sunnydale, and the wool sweater I pulled on before we left is keeping me warm enough. Spike appears a few minutes later, walking with a slight limp and holding himself stiffly. He's got a large plastic take-out cup in one hand, and I watch him drain the contents and then shove the empty cup in the paper bag he's holding in his other hand.

I stifle a yawn and he says, "We'll get you some coffee."

There's a confusing set of turns and then we emerge from a side street onto Royal. We pass several places that have coffee, but Spike keeps going and then we're turning onto Decatur. It's ten minutes of walking, total, and Spike seems to be moving slightly more naturally when we come to our destination.

The sign on the large awning says "Café Du Monde" and we sit at one of the tables only long enough to get served. I think it's the drunken kids having a powdered sugar fight that has Spike abruptly getting to his feet. I follow him over and down a monument whose plaque I don't get a glimpse of, and then we're at a set of wide, deep steps that lead down to the river.

We sit on a row that's only a step higher than the water level, and I hold down the lid of my coffee while I shake it around. Spike takes out his cup and pours himself more blood.

"One of these days," I comment, "we need to take a trip." I bring the iced café au lait to my lips and sip. It's pretty good. Not that I'm a coffee aficionado, or anything, but it doesn't make my tongue curl into a ball and hide away.

Spike slants a curious look in my direction. "A trip? Think we've taken enough of those."

"A good trip," I clarify, staring at the gently lapping water and resisting the urge to dip my feet in. "We could go someplace I haven't been before. Like London. Oh. Or the Orient." I curl my lips into a smile, still watching the river. "I'll be all wide-eyed. You'll be all snarky. We'll have fun."

Surprised laughter comes from him in a choppy burst. "Leave it to you to not bring up anything significant," he drawls.

"Everything is significant," I murmur, shaking the coffee again. The sugar doesn't want to dissolve in the iced coffee. "You'll get through. Then we'll take a trip."

"Don't know if you're blindingly simple, or astoundingly wise."

"Oh, I'm wise," I inform him immediately, my voice confident. "I had a great teacher."

"Yeah? Who was that?"

I smile and say, "I know that you don't need to be saved." A quick look in his direction shows me that I've surprised him again. Wow. I think I'm breaking records tonight. "I also know you didn't need the soul."

He snorts and I hear the rustling of the bag as he gets more blood. "Blindingly simple," he concludes.

We'll never agree, but it doesn't matter. I know the truth of it. For him, the soul was a formality.

"What have you been doing?" I ask casually.

"Blundering around in shock," he says after a lengthy pause. "You?"

My answer doesn't come quickly either. "Waking up," is how I sum up the past few months.

Silence falls and drags on for a long while until Spike breaks it, his voice soft. "You want me to come back, don't you?"

Of all the questions I've been asked tonight, this one is the easiest to answer. "Yeah, I do."

He grunts. "Not as selfless as you used to be, huh?" I turn a frown on him. "Was expecting some kind of answer that had my best interests in mind, not yours," he explains.

"You asked if I wanted you to come back," I reply gently. "It's kind of a selfish question."

"Right. I guess." He narrows his eyes, seemingly trying to see me for the first time tonight "How are you doing?"

That he's asking about me when he's in his current shape is just so...Spike. A lot has changed, but I'm glad to see that some is the same. I flash him a smile and respond with, "Pretty good. Everyone's been, um, nice. And really supportive."

More narrow eyed scrutiny, and I don't try to shield anything from him. He nods slowly. "Good. Glad to hear it."

I'm done with my coffee, so I set it at my feet. "I'm here for--" I stop and realize I genuinely don't know how long I'll be sticking around. "Well, I'm not going back tonight, or tomorrow. Maybe not even the next day."

A small flicker of amusement comes to life in him. "I had picked up on that, pet," he drawls.

"I was thinking." He quirks a brow at me. "There's, uh, not much room. In your hovel. Plus, there's probably bugs, and I haven't done well with those since I was kooky."

"You should get a hotel room," he suggests blandly.

There's a little something in his tone that tells me he knows where I'm going with this. Seeing his carefully blank face, the eyes that he can now only hide by looking away, I forget my little scheme of getting him to stay at a hotel with me. "Come home," I whisper instead. "You don't have to stay if you don't want. Just...come home."

"Hellmouth's not my home," he says quickly, getting to his feet and keeping his face averted.

It took me a long time before I thought of Sunnydale as home. It took me until Willow, until I understood emotionally and not just logically that home isn't about location at all. I lost that feeling when I lost Willow, and it's only been recently that I've recovered it thanks to Faith and the others. I think about how fast that denial flew from his lips and I know that truth is he thinks he no longer has a place in Sunnydale.

I stand up and say it again: "Come home."

Another flinch, and lids fall over bright blue eyes. "I'll--I'll think about it," he whispers raggedly.

I step closer and wrap my hand around his. "Come home," I insist gently.

His hand tightens almost painfully on mine. "All right."

It's not. All right, that is. But it might be. Because we have a leaf for our table, and there's plenty of room for Spike and his soul.

* 


	3. Chapter Three

Getting home is simple enough. After going back to Spike's hovel, we get my bag and an armload of his less dirty clothes, and then I call Marianna. Just as she arrives, I punch in the code for Olson's cell, just to find out where everyone is. Well, more exactly, I want to know where everyone's not. They're a demanding group of people and I'd rather Spike was eased into them again.

It seems that they're pulling an all-nighter at the Magic Box, so I have Marianna bring us to the apartment. She hands me the phone back, and her eyes are shining with something a little hidden as she nods at me and Spike and then leaves.

"Bloody hell," Spike gasps. I turned my head and see that he's gaping at the gargantuan Christmas tree. We ran out of ornaments halfway through decorating it, and compensated with huge clumps of tinsel. "That's the gaudiest thing I've seen in a while," he says with horrified awe.

"Look behind you," I say sweetly. He actually shields his eyes when he sees the banister leading upstairs. There's about a thousand flashing lights, reams of shiny garland, and another metric ton of tinsel on the short banister. It makes me a little dizzy to look at head on. I love it.

"I stand corrected," Spike says dryly, smiling a little at me.

I move to the banister and turn the lights off in deference to his sensitive eyes and give him a little shrug. "I'd say we have about an hour before Faith ends up, uh, bailing on the research," I venture.

His eyes have fallen on the cardboard cut-out of a fireplace that we attached to the wall by the tree. Four stockings hang above it, each of them bearing a name in sloppy clumps of glitter. Clumping seems to be the holiday theme.

"What happened? Some holiday demon projectile vomit?"

My lips twitch and I take the bundle of clothes from him and deposit them by the door. No sense putting them elsewhere when I'm going to take them to the small laundry area in the complex as soon as I get a chance.

"No demon. Just Faith and Josh," I explain.

His eyes widen. "The hard ass Slayer, and the 'been there, done that, so over it' pretty boy?" he asks incredulously, and I have to laugh at the look on his face. "Hell. I've been gone longer than I thought if that's true."

I'm walking towards him when I come to a stop and blink. There's no duster. I'm a little surprised that I'm just noticing that fact. I glance at the pile of clothes and don't see it there either. My arms fall to my sides as I finally stop reaching out to take it from him. He turns away and a muscle at his cheek twitches.

Apparently, one minefield person in my life just wasn't enough.

"There are some clothes in the coat closet," I muse thoughtfully, eyeing him up and down. "Some things Josh and Olson have left. And there's plenty of towels in the bathroom."

He looks at me again, lips quirking seemingly against his will. "Saying I stink, pet?" he asks with amusement.

I smile and shrug. "I already said that. Just offering you a solution, now." I frown as I think about the wound on his abdomen. "And I don't think it's hygienic for your cuts."

"Should've known you'd be a mother hen," he mutters, sounding put-upon. But he rummages through the coat closet then makes his way into the bathroom.

While he's showering, I set a plate of food in the microwave for Faith to heat up when she gets in. Left to her own devices, she eats the leftovers cold, and straight form the container. Then I kind of stand at the counter for a moment, because I suddenly realize that there's no blood in the house. We used to keep some on hand just...just in case Spike came back out of the blue, but eventually it was just too much of a waste.

I remember that Dawn used to make hot chocolate for Spike, that summer. Not often, because she was usually watching movies and forgetting about life, but a few times. When Spike pads into the living room on bare feet, dressed in a pair of Olson's black, drawstring pants and no shirt, I'm taking a mug out of the microwave and replacing the plate of food.

Spike tosses his soiled clothing on top of the pile and takes the mug from me as I cross the living room.

"Thanks," he says softly, and his eyes are just so...wide. Like some kind of panoramic sky that goes on forever and I think that it's a good thing he didn't have a soul that summer, because I would have fallen into that soft, warm sky and never looked back. He sets the cup on the coffee table, and I see the small first aid kit in his other hand. "Let's see the wrist," he tells me as he pops it open.

He waves me to the sofa, and I sit, then shift to the side when he takes a seat next to me. He tears open an antiseptic wipe and takes my hand in his, then dabs at the bite. I wince at the stinging sensation, and decide it's kind of weird, how gentle he is. I mean, he's a vampire and he's really strong. I think that if I were a vampire, I'd forget my strength and break all sorts of things. Like people. And drinking glasses.

"When we take our trip?" I venture, watching him search through the small white case for some band-aids. "We're not allowed to require first aid."

"That so?" he says absently, pulling open a band-aid and then holding up the PowerPuff Girl bandage for inspection. He lifts both his brows as if asking for an explanation.

"I think they're cute," I say a little awkwardly. I don't tell him that while Willow thought of her little group as the Scoobies, I think this new group is more like the PowerPuff Girls. They say that in any group of three girls, there's the cute one, the smart one, and the...tough one. The PowerPuff Girls hold true to this formula, and so do we. Of course, Josh isn't a girl; he's a femme gay man and that's not even close to being a woman. But if I forget that tiny detail, it works.

Faith is, of course, Buttercup. Tough talking, bad-tempered, and eager to solve all problems with a little booty kicking. Faith and Buttercup also share the honor of having names that are, at first glance, a little too soft for how hard you think they are. But only at first glance.

I'm Bubbles. The cute one. Also, in high school? Well, let's just say that fourteen year-old boys tend to take notice when a classmate, um, develops...breasts that aren't small. I used to cry about the nickname, and I feel a little empowered to be reclaiming it. And, wow, that sounds a lot more militant than I really am.

Josh is Blossom, the smart one, even though he's not really our leader the way Blossom is the leader of the PowerPuff Girls. Hm, my little parallel gets more hole-ridden every time I consider it. That leaves Olson as Professor Utonium, which is rather fitting.

Spike taps me on the nose, a teasing look in his eyes, and I duck my head. I don't do the head ducking nearly as much as I used to, but it's still around. He uses two band-aids on the bite, and I notice that they're both Bubbles. I frown down at them. The band-aids aren't sorted in the tin, and he had to have sought them out. I raise my eyes, and he winks at me.

I lean back and Spike puts the first aid kit aside in favor of the cocoa. "So, you can stay with us," I tell him.

"Can't stay here forever," he says neutrally, resting the mug on his knee.

"I guess not, but it's as good a place as any to...settle."

His eyes fly to mine and we stare at each other for a moment. Spike looks away first. I go quiet then, because I know he's got to be steeling himself for Faith's arrival. She's not going to hold her questions the way I have.

Ten minutes later, as I'm staring at the tree and trying to figure out the pattern of the twinkling--I think there's a short, because one set is just really not blinking predictably--the apartment phone rings. Which strikes me as very strange, because really the only ones who call the apartment are Olson and Josh, and only if they can't get through to my or Faith's cell phones. Since they're all supposed to be together researching, I haven't the faintest idea who is calling.

"Hello?"

"Tara?" Faith exclaims, and then a dial tone sounds in me ear. A few seconds later, the front door is thrown open and she's strolling in with a frown. I realize she must have seen the lights on and wondered who was in the house. The frown shifts into a blinking stare of disbelief, then slides into an ill-tempered glare. I'm not really sure who the last is for, but I know it'll have my name written on it in a few minutes. I set the cordless phone on the base and go back to the couch.

"Well, fuck me," she says slowly, closing the door. Her eyes are on Spike, raking over his injuries. He nods at her, just once, and drinks some more cocoa. "A totally ass-kicked Spike. In my living room. And Christmas still a four days away."

Every time I think I've gotten a little better at figuring out Faith, she changes the rules all over again. Right now, I would have thought she'd be confused, maybe a little glad to see Spike, and curious beyond belief. Instead she already looks angry, and I haven't the faintest idea why. Or maybe I do. Maybe it has to do with the insecurities that got triggered earlier at the cemetery.

"Santa came early," I say easily, smiling at her. She shrugs, using the motion to shake her coat off. She hangs it on the handle of the coat closet. "Did you guys find anything out?"

"Yeah," she says absently, still staring at Spike. She grimaces suddenly. "What the _fuck_ is that stench?." I point at the clothes and the grimace gets worse until she hurries away from the pile. "Well," she drawls flatly, her eyes drilling into first me, and then Spike. "Someone want to clue me in, here?"

"Been here and there," Spike answers blankly. "Now I'm here."

The glare is back, directed at Spike, and then she raises a brow at me. This isn't a conversation I want to have, but there's no getting around it. Except...I touch Spike's knee and he glances at me. He seems conflicted, and I watch the play of emotions across his face. Confusion. Pain. Sadnes. Anger. Guilt. And...fear, which flashes by so fast that I almost miss it.

"Tell her," he says, turning his attention back to his mug.

"Sit down," I say to Faith, still watching Spike. I hear her moving around, taking a chair and setting it where Olson and Josh were earlier in the evening. I set my hand on Spike's thigh and keep it there as I finally look at her. "Spike has a soul."

She does a fair impression of a fish. "A _soul_?" she repeats, stunned. I nod. "Like Angel?"

The muscles under my hand tense. My "no" is emphatic enough to cause them to relax. "It's not a curse. It's just...his soul," I explain.

She leans back on the dining chair and shakes her head. "Shit. I mean, shit. That's fucking--well, weird. How the hell did that happen?" I wait two beats and watch the answer come to her. "Oh. Yeah. Never mind," she mumbles. She's quiet for a couple of seconds and then grunts a little. "Guess the why is Dawn."

"Mm. He's going to, uh, stay here. For now," I inform her.

Her head tilts to the side and her eyes narrow into dangerous slits. The gears are turning in her mind, and just once I wish she really were as dumb as she thinks she is. "Give me a minute," she snaps angrily. "I'm trying to figure out just how many times you lied to us."

I meet her eyes dead on. I feel bad that I didn't tell them, but I'm not sorry and I would do it again. "Lied? None. Omitted? A lot," I say calmly. "I owed Spike a secret."

"That's so sweet I think I'm getting a cavity," she drawls caustically. "What about what you owe us?" Her face closes down, something mean sliding into her eyes. "What about what you owe Dawn? How many times did she call you, crying about Blondie?"

There's a noise from Spike, and I know that cut him. Deeply. I glare at Faith and, I'm not sure, but I think it might be the first time I've done so. "This isn't about Dawn," I say sharply.

Her eyes are glued to mine as she stands up in that graceful, animal way of hers and stalks to me. Spike tenses when her hand snakes out to grab at my wrist. At my bitten wrist. Oh. I forgot about that. Her grip is just this side of painful as she holds it up and stares at the band-aids.

"Interesting," she sing-songs, her eyes cutting to Spike. My other hand is still on his thigh and his muscles are quivering. I want to look at him to see what's on his face, but I think it's really important not to break Faith's gaze right now. "What, you owed him some blood, too?"

Her hand tightens a small bit, and I wince, which has Spike growling and Faith letting go of me. What is has me doing is getting to my feet. Faith is so very close to the sofa that she has to take a step back to give me room to stand. "I don't owe you explanations, Faith," I say quietly. "I choose to give them to you most of the time, but not for this."

She jerks like I've slapped her, blinks several times and clenches her fists. Then she's suddenly a different Faith--and there are so many of her that it's hard to keep track of. I see the tiny smile, the diffident eyes, and I know this is the one with the back that everything slides off of, that one nothing can touch. She takes a step back and I wait for the expected words. She doesn't disappoint. "I'm going out on patrol."

My teeth make a dull clicking noise as I snap together to prevent myself from saying anything. She's at the door with her jacket back on before I trust myself to speak again, and I catch her with her hand on the doorknob.

"We need blood."

She stiffens, and from behind her nod looks a little tense, but her voice is so very casual that I have to take a deep breath to stay calm. "I'll hit Willie's on my way back. No problem."

After she's gone, Spike's hand is on my chin, turning my face away from the door to him. He scrutinizes me, questions sliding in and out of his gaze. "Didn't mean to cause you trouble," he says quietly.

I take his hand in mine and shake my head. "It's not you." I shake my head again. "I need to call Olson and see what they found out. Do you want to get some sleep?"

He nods, a bit reluctantly. "I'm exhausted," he admits.

"You can use my room," I offer. "I'll take the couch tonight."

There's an impatient noise. "I'm not putting you out of your bed."

Apparently, a compromise is in order. "I'll wake you and have you come downstairs when I go to bed. Okay?"

His look is filled with suspicion. I smile innocently and he snorts, but nods anyway. I know better than to think I can _really_ outmaneuver Spike; he'll let me think I'm winning, but I know he's got a countermove planned. "Put the clothes outside the door if you have to, but don't go to that laundry room," he instructs me on his way upstairs.

I call Olson from the house phone, and he greets me like I'm Faith. "Um, it's me, actually," I interrupt him.

"Tara? You're back rather quickly," he says cautiously. "Is everything all right?"

"Spike's a little...beat up, but I got him some blood, brought him home, and he's resting now. Faith is kind of a different story," I add in a frustrated murmur.

"I would imagine so," he says obliquely, and I'm not sure why he would imagine that. "Did she tell you what we found?"

"No, she didn't get a chance."

He fills me in as I bring Spike's empty mug into the kitchen and take Faith's food out of the microwave. "Faith got some information from Willie earlier. The vampires you two encountered in the cemetery aren't local. They're the second bunch that's shown up, and Faith thinks she took out the other group a few nights ago. Something Willie mentioned about a Mohawk."

I remember the Mohawk, because Faith actually woke me up when she got in from patrol so that she could laugh with someone about it. A Mohawk in this decade. If I wasn't so frustrated, I'd laugh about it again.

"What are they after? And how can they just...poof, appear."

"The what is the usual," Olson drawls. Hm. Control of the Hellmouth. Not very original. "The how is a little more alarming. A few of Willie's customers told him that whoever they're working for is providing their unique form of transportation." He makes a noise. "Of course, no one seems to know who or what they're working for."

"Do you need help with the research?"

"There's no way to narrow down the method they're using. Josh pulled everything we had on manifestations so that we have it on hand in case we get some details. Until then, all we can do is wait."

I've seen Faith get information at Willie's. It's not pretty, and it generally doesn't invite others to step forward with anything of their own. "Spike has contacts here," I remind Olson. "I'll ask him to check with them."

"Thank you. Get some sleep. Josh and I will come over in the afternoon."

I'm about to ask why they'll be coming over, then I remember that Spike's here. "All right. Good night."

I should probably be a little too stressed to sleep. But, it's about four thirty in the morning at this point, and I've been up since about nine yesterday. I can definitely sleep. My pajamas are upstairs, so are the spare blankets. I make do without and lie on the couch, leaving the tree on, and I fall asleep pretty darn fast.

*

I'm confused to wake up in my own bed, but not for very long. I'd known I wouldn't get my way in giving Spike my room. A knock on the door is what woke me, and I sit up in bed and call out a bleary, "Come in."

The clock on the bedside table says it's nine thirty. I really could have used a lot more sleep, but I'll at least be able to function. Josh steps into my room, looking much like I do. "Hey, we need you to wake Faith up for us," he tells me.

"She's not awake?" I ask with surprise. Not that she's usually awake during the day, but how did-- "Spike let you in."

"What the hell happened to him, by the way?" Josh asks tightly. "He looks like shit."

So maybe Faith isn't the only bad influence I'm exposed to. "I didn't get a chance to ask him yet." I slide my legs off the bed and get to my feet. "I was a little more concerned with getting him fed and convincing him to come home."

"So I heard." His eyes flicker to my wrist and I glance down automatically. Bubbles got a little scrunched up while I slept. "Faith stormed our place right after Eric talked to you. She was more than a little pissed."

"Hm," I murmur. I don't like sleeping in my clothes; it always feels like I've simply taken a nap, and it's always so hard to wake up. I try to get my brain online. Faith is mad. Okay, I knew that. Spike is awake, but still looking poorly. "Did Faith get blood?"

A strange smile tilts his lips up. "Yes, she did, and yes, Spike drank some already. Now, go wake her up."

I arch a brow. Normally, I'm volunteered to wake her up because she generally goes easier on me. But, I doubt I'll be privy to any special behavior at the moment. "Did she tell you anything about what's going on with Spike? Did he?" Josh shakes his head and I go to my closet and pull out some clothes. Josh is watching me expectantly and I sigh. "You should wake her up."

His eyes widen a little, but he nods. "Guess we've got quite a story coming to us."

I shrug a little. "I need to take a shower. You can, uh, let her sleep a little longer."

"Hey, Tara?" I glance up at him and he's got an unusually serious look on his face. "I'm not going to lie--it's taking effort not to freak out a la our dear Slayer." Oh. The bite. I should maybe have considered all of this before implementing my plan--something occurs to me and I can feel my face tighten.

"Didn't mean to tick you off, sweetie," Josh quickly assures me. "Seriously. We trust you, and if you felt safe doing it, then bully for you."

"It's not you," I say lowly for the second time in far too few hours. I force a smile. "Thank you. I know it's, uh, ooky. For me, too. But, Josh? He didn't ask, and he didn't want to. I had to force him."

"Well that's reassuring," he says sincerely.

"But still ooky," I state, and he nods his agreement.

"And makes me wonder just what kind of kinks you're hiding under that innocent little exterior."

I smile and walk past him and out of the room.

*

When I go downstairs, I bring one of the chairs that go with the dining set. A leaf is all well and good, but is rather pointless without a chair. There isn't much storage space in the apartment, so the chair has been sitting, unused, in a corner of my room.

Olson steps forward to take the chair, and I smile gratefully. "Can you put the leaf in?" I ask hopefully, and he nods, though he looks confused. He probably doesn't understand why I want the leaf in now. Maybe he'll get it. Or not.

Spike is standing on the sidelines of the room, and his jaw is clenched. He's close to furious right now. Faith is sprawled on the couch looking barely awake and very irritated. Josh seems to be hiding in the kitchen, but when I catch sight of his face, it's obvious that he's also angry and is trying to calm down. Waking Faith is never fun.

No one says anything while Olson grapples with the leaf he took out of the coat closet. Once it's in place, I sit at the table and clear my throat. "Um, come sit," I say to the room at large.

Olson sits down immediately, and Josh flounces out of the kitchen and sits next to him. Faith snorts and stays where she is. Spike ignores me and stays where he is. I repeat what will likely be my mantra over the next few days: one problem at a time.

"Spike?" I say hesitantly and he looks at me. "Please?"

His face tightens, but he crosses the room and sits at the end of the table. I'd try the same thing with Faith, but I know it won't work, and will just lead to an argument. Especially since I'm not all that unangry myself.

"Do--do you want to tell them?" I ask Spike.

He starts to shake his head, then changes his mind. "Guess I might as well," he says indifferently. He looks from Olson to Josh, then shrugs. "Got a little prezzie from Khentimentiu."

"What kind of prezzie?" Josh asks curiously, his eyes raking over Spike. "A sound thrashing?"

"No. A soul."

"Damn," Josh breathes. His eyes look over Spike again, like he's trying to see some external evidence of the soul.

Olson has gotten a Watcher gleam in his eyes. I can see the questions gathering and I clear my throat. "I told Spike he can stay here as long as he needs to."

"You're not back for good?" Olson asks with some surprise. "Why not?" Spike shrugs and looks down at the tabletop. I shake my head once at Olson, and he settles back in his seat, nodding slightly. "Fair enough."

"You haven't heard the best part," Faith adds.

Josh and Olson blink at the sound of her voice, then I see the same thing dawn on them that dawned on me upstairs. Faith went running over to tell them about Spike biting me, but didn't tell them about him getting a soul. Was she trying to get them to stake Spike? Probably not. Was she trying to cause trouble? Definitely.

Change is kind of easy for Faith to accept, mainly because she's had so much of it. But relationships aren't so easy for her to accept or understand or deal with. With Spike coming back, she thinks things are going to change between her and him and between her and me. And she blames that all on what's between me and Spike. She reacted without thinking. Which is what she always does.

I do another headshake at Josh and Olson. They nod reluctantly and don't call her on the carpet. Which is a good thing. Because, landmines and all. If we started in on her now, she'd feel like she was being ganged up on, and things would just go from bad to worse. Also, Spike doesn't really need all that drama right now. I think he's probably had enough lately.

"What she means is that I, um, knew. About the soul," I admit quietly.

I'm suddenly feeling really bad that I didn't tell them everything I knew about Spike. No, that's not right. I feel bad that I didn't say that I knew more but that I couldn't tell them. Maybe that's what I should have done, rather than keep everything a secret.

Surprise and shock seem to be the order of the day. At least for Josh. Olson just raises a chiding brow.

"Look," Spike said suddenly. "I may not have asked her not to say anything, but I would have. Wasn't anyone's business but _mine_." His eyes go to Faith and she stiffens. "As for the bite," he adds testily, "Tara has a history of losing her mind." He glares at me and I shift uncomfortably when he points angrily at me. "Don't _ever_ try that again, pet. Three strikes and you're out, and all that rot."

I tried to get him to drink from me one other time. During that summer, when he was the walking wounded and refusing to do anything about it. I cut myself open, so the chip wasn't an issue. He didn't have a soul then, either. But he refused me.

"Don't give me a reason to," I say, and I decide that I'm definitely stubborn. Or still very crazy.

"Don't worry," Josh says to Spike slowly. He's frowning, and I think he's still trying to process it all. "We're not going to throw a tantrum that she didn't tell us."

Josh hasn't had the ideal life. Not that anyone does anymore, but I think his was less ideal than most. He's only mentioned it in passing, and with a great deal of flippancy, but I'm sure he's told Olson everything. And Olson hasn't told Faith or me. I guess he knows about how some things take a while before they're ready to come out.

"There are things a man has to do on his own," Olson murmurs, his eyes understanding. "We're glad to see you, no matter what we did or didn't know."

Olson doesn't fawn over people. When he says something it's generally understated, but sincere. Spike gives him a smile that's grateful and a little confused. I think that might become the standard look for him over the next few days.

Josh and Olson--and Faith, normally--are really loyal, and they've all done things they're less than proud of. Spike proved himself to them before the soul, and hopefully he's starting to realize that nothing has changed for them. Me, well, obviously I'm highly biased in Spike's favor no matter what. Tends to happen when someone helps you regain your sanity.

Josh shrugs, a wide grin on his face. "Now that the sappy stuff is out of the way," he says easily and I know he's purposely trying to lighten things up, "let's get down to business. Allow me to sum up the results of our research: crapolla." He looks cheerfully around the room. "Who's next?"

I chuckle and get to my feet. "Um, fill Spike in. I need to run an errand."

Actually, I need to pick up one of Dawn's Christmas gifts. It had to be ordered and the store called me yesterday to let me know it was in. But after Spike's reaction when the subject of Dawn came up last night, I decide against mentioning this. I walk to Faith and look down at her. "Come with?" She shakes her head and I fold my arms across my chest. " Come with."

She sighs and stands up. "Let me get changed," she grumbles, and stalks upstairs.

Josh stops in the middle of telling Spike about the magically appearing vampires. "Are you going to let her get away with that shit?" he asks angrily. "Because you really shouldn't, Ta."

"I'll take care of it," I murmur, tucking my hair behind my ears.

"I suggest an immobilization spell and a baseball bat," he snorts, and I frown at him. His face gets serious. "She didn't say you fed him, she said that he bit you. She said it that way to incite us. I just can't believe she did that."

I can, actually. Olson frowns thoughtfully. "We'll let you handle it, Tara, but call in reinforcements if you need them."

"What crawled up her arse, anyway?" Spike asks bluntly.

Neither Josh nor Olson answer, proving that they know about keeping secrets. But in all honesty, Spike doesn't actually need an answer to that question. I think he's trying to find out if we know the answer. We do, but there's no need to discuss it. It's kind of like talking behind someone's back, and Faith--recent stunt aside--doesn't deserve that.

"Are you two going to hang out here?" I ask instead of answering Spike's question.

"I thought we might," Olson says with a shrug.

Josh grins cheekily at me. "Yes, mom, we'll stay here and watch over the injured one. Get him all strong and healthy again. Because you will make us feel guilty for weeks unless we do."

Olson scowls at his lover. "Stop being irritating, Josh."

"I don't think he can help it," I comment, and smile when Josh gives me the finger.

Faith comes stomping down the steps then, clothed in armor made out of black denim and red lipstick so dark that it almost looks black. "Ready when you are."

We leave, with me reminding Spike to eat, much to Josh's scoffing amusement. I'm secure in my ways, however, so I ignore him and follow Faith to the car. She digs through her pockets and curses, ready to go back to the house, but I hold up the keys I snagged on the way out. We keep them on this clever little hook thing that's on the wall next to the door.

"I'll drive," I say and get behind the wheel. Faith is annoyed, but gets in the passenger seat. She likes to do the driving, which is why I've usurped the duty today. I need her to be a little out of her element to get through to her.

I let the silence drag on for ten minutes before I speak. "Spike helped you here for months, and you stood up for him to Giles. I didn't hear all of what you said," I acknowledge. "I was kind of making a sneaky getaway at the time. But I heard enough."

"What's your point, Tara?" she asks cynically. "That I should ignore the fact that he chomped on you? Fuck that."

"My point is that he's helped all of us," I say firmly, and what _I_ choose to ignore is the fact that her attitude started before she even noticed the bite. It's a cop out excuse, and we both know it. "Even if his reasons weren't...well, completely selfless all of the time."

I stop the car at a stop sign and look at her. Her jaw is clenched and she's staring out the windshield. "And now he needs our help. If you don't want to help him, then don't." I take my foot off the brake and step on the gas. "But I will be helping him, and I won't let you interfere with that."

I can see her shifting uncomfortably. "I didn't mean--"

"I know you didn't," I sigh. "I know. I just--there's a lot going on right now, Faith. I need you to not be something that's going on. Because this is going to be really hard for me."

"Having Spike back is hard?" she asks, sounding surprised.

I pull into the parking lot of the large chain electronics store and turn off the engine. I slide my seatbelt off and look at Faith, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "It's...great to see him," I start. "I've really missed him." I fiddle with the material of my skirt, ducking my head down. "I kind of dealt with a lot of things. But not all of them. He brings reminders, you know?"

"Maybe you should take a trip to White's," Faith suggests awkwardly.

"White" is Dr. Christopher White. He's a psychologist, and he's not as ignorant of things in Sunnydale as most. I think Olson had something to do with clueing him in, but I'm not sure of any details. I just know that Olson is the one who gave me Dr. White's number, and that I've been able to talk freely to him. I used to see him twice a week, then just once a week. Nowadays it's every two weeks. I might just have to pop in for an off schedule visit.

Because I'm not lying to Faith. I'm not even exaggerating about what seeing Spike brings up. I know I can deal with it; that's not the point. If I learned anything through the mess with the Cerno, it's that everything passes. But I'd rather not have to worry about Faith on top of all that, or deal with her not-dealing behavior.

"I'll probably give him a call," I say lowly. "If you could be...someone I can relax around, it would mean a lot to me." I frown. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah," she says gruffly. "I didn't mean to act like mega bitch. But, him only telling you, and you not telling the rest of us.... I understand, I guess. But it still surprised me."

I look up at her and she has this open, soft look on her face. When she gets into her moods, it's kind of hard to remember that she's really this unsure, insecure girl beneath the exterior. So very sensitive to things, and so very easily thrown off kilter. It didn't surprise her; it hurt her. I touch her cheek and smile.

"Spike didn't tell me." She frowns in confusion. "Khentimentiu did. I don't, um, I don't think Spike would ever have. Told me. Or anyone."

"Oh," Faith says, confused and a little concerned. Finally, the concern. It gives me hope that she'll go back to thinking before acting.

"Let's go," I say and open the door. "I want to get in there before the holiday shoppers descend."

*

Faith and I pick up Dawn's gift, then go to the post office so that I can overnight it to Dawn in Los Angeles. Then we go to lunch, and I'm relieved to see that she's back to herself. I think she'll probably be a mixture of herself and the, uh, mega bitch around Spike, but she's trying. That means a lot, especially coming from her.

By the time we get back to the apartment, it's almost five. Faith's expression tightens a little when we get inside, but she nods civilly to Spike and I relax a little.

"We miss anything?" she asks while I hang up our coats.

"You missed Josh filling Spike in on every second that's transpired since he left," Olson says irritably. "I swear he's got a photographic memory and no compunction about boring everyone in hearing distance, sometimes."

I look around, but only Olson and Spike are in the living room. They're sitting on the sofa, two mugs on the coffee table in front of them. "Where is he?"

"Went out to get the clothes I left here," Spike answers.

We put all of the stuff that Spike left behind in the storage area in Olson and Josh's apartment building. There's no place to keep it here, and I kind of needed the bedroom since I didn't have anywhere else to stay. I head into the kitchen to put away the blood that Faith and I got at Willie's. Spike follows me.

"Everything all right?" he asks cautiously.

"Mm. How are you feeling? You look better. A lot better."

The bruising is almost gone, and the limp is a lot less pronounced than it was earlier. Unfortunately, the gash at his stomach is healing a lot more slowly. Probably because it was deeper than I'd originally thought. Maybe I should have stitched it...

Spike shrugs. "Coming along. The lovers brought me up to date. I should be able to talk to some of my connections come sunset."

"Only if you feel up to it," I tell him, frowning. "I didn't ask you here to--"

His hand is over my mouth, and he's smiling down at me. "Be quiet," he says without fervor. "First? You didn't ask me here. You damn well guilted me into coming." I widen my eyes innocently and he snickers. "Second? It's all right. Truth be told, I'm probably better off here than where I was. Don't think it's the permanent solution, but it'll do for now."

He takes his hand away and I catch it in mine. His eyes seem a little more focused now, like maybe he's just staring down at the hand around his throat and wondering what the heck it's trying to accomplish by choking him. "If you need...anything?" I start to say, but he cuts me off again, this time by leaning down and kissing my forehead.

"Thanks, pet." He settles a hand in my hair. I'm still holding the other one. His lips curl up in a smile that's more than a little rueful. "I did miss you, you know. Wanted to call, like I promised I would, but didn't know what I'd say. Hated that you were probably worried I was dust."

"I knew you weren't dead," I hurry to assure him. "One day? I kind of woke up in the middle of the night. I couldn't figure out why, so I looked around the room. I saw Khentimentiu, Spike. In my mirror." He's still frowning and I squeeze his hand. "That was six days after you left." His eyes widen when he realizes that's when he got his soul. "I don't know why he let me know when it happened, but he did. I guess I figured he'd let me know if you were dust."

"Seems like you made an impression on the wanker," he says wonderingly, shaking his head. "For him to be reassuring you."

Actually, I think it was Spike who made the impression, but it's another thing he and I will never agree on.

I hear Josh come in. His greeting to Faith is cautious at best, and he pops his head into the kitchen a minute later, tossing a small bag at Spike. "Here you go. Get a shirt on before I'm overcome by your hotness," he drawls, brown eyes twinkling.

Spike raises a droll brow and heads out of the kitchen. Josh catches my eyes with his and I smile reassuringly at him, so that he knows the Faith situation has been handled for the moment. He grins, and then his lips slide into a pout.

"I'm hungry, Ta. Are you hungry, Eric?" he calls out, and Olson replies in the affirmative, Faiths' voice joining his. I'm not hungry. In fact, I'm a little shocked Faith is, considering how much she ate at lunch. The girl's got a bottomless stomach.

I wave my hand and smile indulgently. "Shoo. I'll put something together."

I'm in the process of putting some leftovers in the oven when Spike walks over to the cut-out. I glance up and see that he's changed into a faded pair of black jeans, and a dark red t-shirt. "Gonna head out," he says, motioning to the door.

I start to say something about sunset, then realize that it's come and gone. I always forget that the sun sets so early during winter. I close the oven and nod as I remove the oven mitt from my right hand. "Do you want one of us to go? With you?" I propose, and it took a lot not to bring up his injuries and insist someone go. He's a grown vampire, so he knows his limits. Trouble is, I really am a mother hen, and I want nothing more than to settle him on the sofa and fuss over him. But coddling is what had me staying in a mental hospital even though I didn't need to be there anymore. I'm really exhausting my tough love stores.

"Don't think there's a need," he says blandly, lips twisting in a way that lets me know he's fully aware that I'm worried. "Been keeping a low profile," he goes on. "Unlikely anyone knows about the soul, so they won't be starting trouble. And the visible stuff's healed."

I bite my lip and manage not to vocalize any fussing about what's not visible. It's still evident on my face, I'm sure, but I can only go so far against my nature, after all.

"All right. Oh! Take your phone."

I scoot out of the kitchen and get the cell phone Marianna used from the table next to the door. "My phone?" Spike asks with surprise.

"Yeah, we've all got one," Faith snickers from her position at the table. "It's a _family_ plan. Enough to make me heave."

"Seconded," Josh chimes in, all cynical and jaded; a perfect reflection of the Slayer directly across from him. "Tara was all giddy and fawning when she handed out the phones."

My head ducks almost instinctively. I hate when he talks about things I do like they're ridiculous and sappy. Um, all right, so they are. But he really doesn't have to say it like he thinks I'm a moron for doing them.

"That so?" Spike asks archly. He looks around the room, pointedly staring at the gaudy decorations. "And you two _aren't_ responsible for this, then? Being all above pansy ass sentimentality, as it were."

They're squirming and awkward in the face of Spike's reminder of just how sentimental they can be. I bring the phone over to Spike, and he takes it from me, staring at Josh and Faith like he's trying to drill something into them with his eyes. He absently moves my hair behind my ear. "Don't hide yourself, pet," he says flatly.

With a last glance at the pair sitting at the table--and it looks almost like a warning--he strides out of the apartment.

"I trust you've both been firmly put in your place?" Olson says sedately. He's sitting on the couch, looking more than a little amused.

"Shut up," Faith mumbles, irritation dripping from her words.

Not sure of what, if anything, I should say, I slip out of the room for the safety of the kitchen. I guess like any family we have our faults and sore spots, which seem to line up in such a way as to constantly come into contact.

"You're the squishy center, Ta," Josh says. I turn away from the stove and see that he's leaning over the partition, a rueful grin on his face. "The Tootsie Roll Center of our Tootsie Roll Pop. We know this, we love this, but we must mock this because it's our nature."

This is very true. They're a mocking trio. Scoffing, even. But they've helped me out in dozens of ways since I moved back, saved my life more times than that, and even when all the spots are lining up in ways that just assure there will be fighting, I've never doubted that they care about me.

"Twinkling," I say matter-of-factly. Josh raises his eyebrows. "If your eyes were, um, twinkling? When you mocked? Then it would be more like...teasing. Friendly teasing."

"I think I can twinkle," he says immediately, his eyes soft. "Because, really, a Tootsie Roll Pop without a Tootsie Roll Center is just a sucker. And I may suck, but I'm not a sucker."

With that, he slinks back to his side of the partition, leaving me giggling as I take the vegetables off the burner. I think about the events of the day and decide it's been rather good, all things considered. Spike seems to be willing to let the latest Hellmouth problem distract him, which might help him sort things out. Faith is Faith, which is better than Faith being one of the varieties of non-Faith she has stocked up. And Josh and Olson are their usual selves; bless them for not being issue-ridden at moment.

I know that whoever is currently after the Hellmouth isn't going to be easy to deal with. We're really about to have a rough patch. But it's nothing we haven't all been through before, and if anything, we perform our best in a crisis. Actually, we sometimes come out of the troubled times better than we were before.

In the meantime, there's a bottomless Slayer, a bitchy but sweet pretty boy, and an ornery Watcher to feed.

* 


	4. Chapter Four

I put a lot of stuff aside and didn't deal with it for a long time after Willow and the others died. Once I finally decided to stop avoiding it all, my subconscious went into overtime trying to make up for lost coping time. The result? Nightmares. Really bad ones. They kind of followed me into the waking world for a while, so that I'd get shaken awake by Faith--who was drawn by the sound of my screams--and not be able to determine what was real and what wasn't.

They were about Glory, the nightmares. I used to think that was very strange. Because I would have thought that...that me killing Willow? I would have thought _that_ would be my nightmare material. But, when I thought about it, I realized that I've done all the dealing I can about Willow. Mostly that's due to the crone in Berlin, who made me relive the memory, and the pit in Paris, where I had to wade through...well, though the...insides of Willow's head in order to get something I needed for the Cerno. Literally, the insides.

And, also? Well, I saw Will again. Nothing like coming face to face with something to really make you come to terms.

Glory, on the other hand, is a different story. And what she did to me is an even more different story. She took control of me. Took away everything in me that was mine, and made me into something that was...not me. Something that did things I would never do. And I had to watch it all, from some far off corner of my brain. It was like watching a movie whose reel had been cut into pieces and then put back together randomly, and upside down.

In the nightmares, she had me again. Nothing made sense, and I didn't know if I was seeing the moving pictures right, or if they were something else altogether. I tried to force my way out of the corner I was trapped in. Tried to force myself to speak, to make sense, but nothing ever came out that was coherent in the least.

I used to wake up from them and be afraid to talk, in case I didn't make sense. I didn't want to know if I was still dreaming.

Faith talked me down from them. Forced me to recognize her and remember that she wasn't here when Glory was, and that I couldn't possibly be all messed up again. She asked me question after question, starting with simple ones. As I answered each one, and heard my answers make sense, I relaxed.

Tonight, when I wake up screaming, I start to calm down when I see Faith barge into my room. But Spike is here, too, and my calm goes flying out the window. Am I awake? Because Spike was there when Glory was, and maybe I'm just confusing things all over again.

"Tara, you're awake," Faith tells me. She's trying to get me to look at her, but my eyes are locked on Spike, even as he's forced out of the room and has the door slammed in his face. "Look at me, babe. Come on, I need you to look at me."

Her hands are on my face, and she turns my head so that she's directly in my line of sight. "You're awake," she says again, her face determined. "And you're going to talk me. Who am I?"

I know who she is, but I don't know if what might come out of my mouth will be what I intend to say.

"Come on," she coaxes me, letting go of my face. "Tell me what my name is. I swear you'll get it right."

"Faith," I whisper. I get a little braver. "You're Faith."

"Who says you should ride the short bus?" she snickers, sitting next to me on the bed. "So I'm Faith, and you are...?"

"I'm Tara," I say quietly. I remember this. I know this. And I'm not going to let this hang on me for the next few hours, the way it used to. "Glory is dead and I'm sane."

A quick flash of relief slides across her face, and then her lips twist. "Yeah, well, that could be argued. Letting Mr. Pale Face suck your blood wasn't the sanest thing you've ever done. But, yeah, for the most part. Sane."

I take a deep breath and push some sweaty hair off my forehead. Grimacing, I sit up and push the light blanket off of me. I always wake up all sticky and icky from the nightmares. Maybe that should be my point of reference from now on. You know, to figure out whether I'm awake or not.

"I'm sorry. I thought they'd stopped. For good."

Faith shrugs diffidently. "You said Spike was going to bring up some stuff. Guess we know how it's gonna show itself."

She's...really sweet. Strange thing to say about Faith, I know. But it's true. When the nightmares were at their worst, she stayed by my side for hours so that I had someone to talk to. One time she even stood outside of the bathroom and talked to me while I showered, because I wasn't entirely convinced I was awake yet, and I needed to be able to talk with her constantly.

I reach out a hand, and she takes it a little haltingly. "Thank you," I tell her.

"Hey, no worries," she says sincerely. "You need me to camp out on the floor the next few nights?"

Did I mention she also slept in my room several times so that she could be on hand? Well, she did. And the only reason it was the floor is because Faith is a...violent sleeper. I think I almost preferred the nightmares to getting woken up by a Slayer-strength punch to my ribs. Almost. Thank goodness the angle was awkward, or else I might have been damaged.

"If you don't mind?" I say, and my words are quiet and small. It's a little embarrassing to be a grown woman and need someone to sleep on your floor. But if there's anything I've picked up from my visits to Dr. White, it's that I have to let the people around me know when I'm not doing well. Because they want to help me. I'm pretty lucky.

"Got that extra padded sleeping bag," she reminds me. "Now, go shower," Faith advises, slapping my leg. It's a light slap, but considering she's the Slayer, but it still stings. "Then we can fill you in."

I suddenly notice the bruise on Faith's forehead, and I slide my legs off the bed. I miss a lot by keeping normal hours. "I'll be quick."

*

On my way downstairs, I absently turn the banister holiday lights off, a little startled that I keep forgetting it's the holiday season. Which should be impossible, given the inordinate amount of decorations in our small apartment, but things are a little...busy at the moment.

Faith and Spike are sitting at the opposite heads of the table, her with a plate of food and him with two mugs of blood. I get myself some juice and sit between them, noticing that the last of the cuts and bruising on Spike's face are gone.

"More vamps?" I guess, and they nod.

"Ambushed me over by Pleasant Acres," she complains. "Fifteen of them. Dusted the ones I could, then had to hightail it out of there." Her face twists disgustedly. She takes her Slaying seriously, and combined with her natural competitive edge, she hates letting any get away. Puts her in a foul mood. "I'm fucking over the novelty of vamps just popping out of thin air, by the way."

"Hm," I murmur, smiling at her sympathetically.

I turn to Spike and he shrugs. "Heard the same things Faith did," he says flatly. "Some git or other wants the Hellmouth. Also found out that the vamps are coming from all over."

"Didn't we know that?" Faith questions, finishing some pot roast and pushing her empty plate aside. "Non local vamps, is what I heard."

"Not just getting pulled from one spot," Spike explains. "I heard about nine, maybe ten different locations. Probably more than that."

"What the fuck," Faith groans. "The psycho practically has an unlimited supply of vamps, then."

"Also heard you're pissing him off." That's not very surprising. Faith has the stunning ability to...piss off a great many people and demons. Usually without even trying, bless her attitude. "Rumor's just started up that he wants to know how the bloody hell you walked away from ten without a scratch, and without leaving any survivors."

Faith rolls her eyes. "You're sitting next to the reason."

Spike snaps his head to the side and stares at me. "_You_ dusted them?"

"Um, no," I say emphatically. "I leave that to Faith. I just..." I wiggle my fingers vaguely. "You know."

He raises a brow, infusing his face with something more than a little chiding. Oh. Yeah. I suppose he does know, since I did it to him. I duck my head and peer up at him through my hair, and his lips twitch.

"Just sometimes," I continue. "Basically, uh, when Faith lets me. Only when she lets me, actually."

"So, the bad guy's curious," she drawls. "That mean he's gonna come take a look for himself?" She pulls the plate back in front of her, and starts tapping her fork against the dish. The clanging noise isn't so bad now, but I know from experience it's going to get very annoying, very fast. She tends to fidget with things when she's nervous, and since we live on the Hellmouth, I've gotten to see her nervous on several occasions.

"Dunno for sure," Spike replies. "Seems likely, though."

"Any hints about who...or what is behind it?" I ask hopefully. To my disappointment, Spike shakes his head. "Anything else we can do tonight?"

Both Spike and Faith shake their heads this time. The poor plate is still getting abused by Faith's fork and I think I might start twitching in time with the sounds. "We should get some sleep, then."

Faith pushes her chair back and stands up, the fork making a loud clatter as she drops it. "I'm taking a shower first. Vamp grime."

My eyes settle on her bruised forehead. "Any other damage?"

"I'm a little tougher than that, Ta," she says wryly. "I'll vamp proof my room."

She heads upstairs and Spike looks at me curiously. "You're staying in Faith's room tonight," I tell him.

"And where's Faith staying?" His voice is a little too...well, it's weighed down with a tone that suggests he knows where Faith will be staying, and is sure something sexual will be happening.

I put my best scowl in place and direct it at him, but he just purses his lips and says nothing. "Hm. Faith's going to be staying with me. Just for tonight." I bite my lip and think about that. It would be too much to expect the nightmare to be a fluke. "I hope. Maybe not just tonight, though."

He leans back in the chair and his face sobers. "That happen often? The nightmares, I mean."

"Sometimes."

Reaching over, he tugs lightly on a lock of my wet hair, and his face gets soft and worried. "Thought you said you were doing well, pet?" he says gently.

"I am. Really," I add at his doubtful look. "Some things, um, take longer than others? Glory...messing with my head seems to be one of those things."

He flinches a little and looks way. "Suppose some things do take longer."

I scoot my chair closer to his and turn it so that my knees are pressed against the side of his thigh. The way he said that, it makes me wonder if he had a hard time being out and about in Sunnydale again. "How are you doing?"

"It's strange...wasn't so bad when I left. Guess the soul is--" He breaks off and his jaw clenches.

The soul is bringing up a whole different kind of pain. Regrets where there was once only soulless acceptance. I'm overcome with uncertainty all of a sudden. Should I have brought him home again? I stare at his face, and there's emotion there that was absent when I found him in that hovel. I think I did the right thing, but I guess we'll see.

"How's your stomach?" I gesture at his abdomen and he shrugs. "Let me see."

"You should head to bed."

"Show me some skin," I say seriously, but I'm teasing him and he notices. Spike always sees through my deadpan face to the teasing. He laughs a little and pulls up his shirt enough to show me the injury, which is absolutely getting better. I glance at the mugs on the table and realize both are empty; he must have finished them while we were talking with Faith. "Have some more. As much as you need."

He stares down at the cups, a troubled frown on his brow. "You shouldn't have gotten human blood. Not from Willie's."

"Oh. It's all right. We found out he gets his...stock from the blood bank. That's why it's fresh. He bribes one of the techs who take the donations."

Spike's eyes widen in what looks like reluctant amusement. "That lying tosser. Always swore up and down he--well, never mind."

I grin at him and get to my feet. I'm practically on top of him, our chairs were so close, and I lean down and hug him. He pulls me onto his lap, settling his face against my wet hair. "Like seeing you happy and cared for, pet. Suits you."

Smiling, I pull back and touch his cheek. "You should call Dawn."

Every muscle under me tenses, then he's lifting me off his lap and setting me on my feet. "So ends the conversation. Get some sleep."

Arguing will do me no good, I can just tell. I lean down again and kiss his cheek. "Good night."

*

I sleep in the next day. Well, in terms of me, anyway. At ten I get up and leave the nocturnal occupants of the apartment asleep. I take advantage of the solitary time to wrap Christmas gifts. Faith's were stashed in the linen closet, behind a stack of pink towels that she won't dare breach. She avoids anything she even suspects might be pink. I'm not really sure where the towels came from, actually. Giles doesn't strike me as a pink towel kind of person, and I know that neither Faith nor Spike would have brought them into the house.

Faith thinks their unexplained presence is a portent of evil, and that breaching the stack will unleash it. As such, it's my standard hiding spot. Josh and Olson's gifts were in the coat closet, since they never have any reason to dig through there. All of Dawn's have been wrapped for a while now and are up in my room in the bottom of my closet. I thought about bringing them downstairs once we put up the tree, but I never got around to it. Giles' were sent over last month, and he called last week to let me know he received them, but would not be opening them until Christmas.

There are a couple of gifts for Spike, too. Just things I thought he might appreciate, and that I kept on hand in case he did come back. Those are actually in my dresser, and since I didn't think to get them out before I came down, wrapping them will have to wait.

After the Christmas wrapping, I'm on my own and a little bit lost. It's just after two, and Faith doesn't usually wake up until four. I'm not sure what Spike's schedule is, but I'm thinking his body probably needs whatever rest it can get, and might just force him to stay asleep a bit longer.

I stare at the tree and think about the chocolate truffle torte I agreed to make for Christmas, and decide to do a run through of it. The ingredients are on hand, since Josh and I did our grocery shopping the day before Khentimentiu showed up.

I grin and I shuffle into the kitchen. Grocery shopping with Josh is a full day experience. First, there's the regular grocery store where Josh fills a small, handheld basket, and where I stock up on enough food for a family of five or a healthy Slayer; take your pick. Faith used to live on takeout and whatever she could find on hand at the 7-11, but I like cooking so I usually spend Sunday making food for the week. With the snacks that we are required to keep on hand for research sessions, and the multiple cases of bottled water that Faith goes through, my cart is always overflowing by the time I get to the checkout.

After that, we have to head to the expensive gourmet market for provisions for Olson, whose tastes are a bit more refined than most. Lastly, there's a trip to the health food store, where Josh gets everything he needs to make the horrifically noxious protein shakes he consumes daily.

So, I've got enough ingredients to make a practice torte, and that's how I decide to pass the time. I flip on the radio in the kitchen and start pulling out bowls and measuring cups. By the time I take the torte out of the oven, and remove the truffle icing from the refrigerator where I put it to cool, Spike and Faith are awake and moving around upstairs.

I put a container of chicken and rice in the microwave for Faith, who always wakes up with an appetite fit for an army of teenaged boys, and then start icing the torte. When Faith comes down the stairs, I'm just taking the chicken out. She grunts something at me that probably means, "Good morning, and thank you for the food, Tara!" but just sounds like, "Grrngh." She's not very verbal right after she wakes up, unless there's an adrenaline rush involved in the waking up.

Spike comes down a few minutes later, bare-chested and bed-headed. I let him get his own blood because I'm trying to sprinkle toasted hazelnuts on top of the torte so that there will be some on every slice.

"Is it Christmas yet?" Faith asks huskily, staring at the torte with total incomprehension.

I smile and reach across the counter to smooth a stuck-up portion of her hair down. "No, sweetie. Just wanted to make sure I could pull this off. For Christmas. Want some?"

Spike moves behind me and peers over my shoulder. "Is that chocolate?"

"Is it ever," I say with relish "About ten pounds of it, melted and reconstituted in various ways." I turn my head and look up at him. He's staring at the torte with greedy eyes, so I cut two slices of it. "Can you get plates?"

Faith declares her slice to be a mini-orgasm, and cuts herself another huge hunk of torte. My teeth hurt in sympathy. Spike makes do with one piece, but agrees wholeheartedly with Faith's assessment. Good to know I won't be serving garbage on Christmas.

"Feel like patrolling?" Faith asks Spike.

He shrugs and goes to the refrigerator for blood. "Need the help?"

Faith frowns at him, and then looks at me in confusion. Spike never used to be anything less than eager for some violence. "I think we should all go," I propose. "You know, split up a little."

"You're not strolling around alone, babe," Faith says adamantly. She narrows her eyes and then tilts her head in Spike's direction. "Why don't you go with Spike? Show him what you've learned, huh?"

There are a great many reasons I love Faith, and this is one of them. Spike may not be up for violence, but we need another set of hands on patrol. Simple as that. By pairing me with him, she knows that he'll rouse himself from his funk to actually pay attention; even without the soul, Spike looked out for me. The hope I had yesterday that she would pull the attitude back a little has been fulfilled.

I smile widely at her, trying to let her know I appreciate her effort, and she shrugs with embarrassment. "I think that's a great idea. Spike?"

He pushes the microwave door closed with a little more force than is warranted when he takes his blood out, but his voice is steady. "Fine with me, luv."

The two of them head back upstairs to get ready. Spike needs a shirt, not to mention shoes, and Faith needs to do something with her sticky-outy hair. Ten minutes later, we're out of the house. Five minutes after that, we're parting ways at a street corner, Faith taking a right and Spike and I going straight.

I'm armed with a crossbow, because as horrible as I am with the stakes, I'm pretty good with the crossbow. It's some kind of automatic deal that reloads the arrows for me. Except, they're not really arrows. Faith and Olson rigged it with some kind of wood-tipped steel bolt things. Spike has a stake stashed in his waistband, and another in his boot. I've also got a stake, but it's mainly for back up. Desperate back up--because if a vamp gets close enough for me to have to use it? Well, I'm really in trouble. I also got into the habit of carrying a spare one for Faith, in case hers got dusted along with vamps.

I decide to take advantage of the Spike-Tara time. "Want to tell me?" I ask as we walk towards the first cemetery.

He sighs and out of the corner of my eye I see his shoulder lift in a shrug. "Not much to tell, really." He pauses, and I take a moment to marvel at the way he generally just knows what I'm talking about when I spring things on him like that. "Keepers were waiting for me in Cairo. Brought me to Khentimentiu, and the blighter didn't even wait for me to say anything before he handed me a slip of paper. Directions to some other godforsaken place on that nasty continent."

He looks down at me with a troubled and disgruntled frown and I raise a brow. "So have you rethought the Khentimentiu as Fate possibility, yet?"

"Rather trying to avoid that, actually," he says uncomfortably. "Went where the paper told me, got the soul." I nudge him with my elbow and there's another sigh. "Come on, now. You know how things like that work. Better than most, I'd imagine."

True enough. Gathering the objects for the Cerno was a series of trials, and I imagine Spike had his own trials in whatever hidden corner of Africa he was in. "Was it...really bad?"

"Not bad enough, now that I've thought about it." Tilting my head up, I meet his puzzled eyes as we turn a corner. "Feel like it was too easy, really."

I shrug philosophically. "Ours is not to reason why. How...how did it feel?"

The soul, not the torture, is what I meant. I'm about to clarify the question, but Spike is already answering. "Painful," he says in a hushed voice. "Lots of...a lot of things I was a little rusty with. Don't know that I'll get used to them, either."

"Course you will," I say confidently. "My Spike doesn't lay down for anything." I wait a beat, then add, "And I should know, because he turned me down once."

A wry chuckle comes from him and he reaches out to tug on my hair. "That was serious? Should have told me, luv. Would've jumped on...the chance."

I roll my eyes and start to reply, but a strange chirping noise emanates from the cell phone in my front pocket. The family plan came with a two-way feature that we don't normally use. "A little help here," Faith's voice calls out, muffled through the denim of my jeans.

Spike and I come to a sudden halt, and I snatch the phone out of my pocket. "Where?" I ask urgently.

"Oomp! Son of a _bitch_!"

"Faith!"

"Yeah, Craven Hills. South entrance...and hurry, would ya?"

Spike and I start moving at a fast clip. "What the hell is she doing there?" he growls. "Place is cold."

He means that the most recent burial was about forty years ago, and there aren't any mausoleums or tombs. Just graves. So there aren't really any hangouts for the vamps, and it's not usually on patrol routes. I don't answer him, because I obviously don't know what she's doing there. Also? Kind of trying to keep breathing here. My lung capacity really isn't where it should be for this type of running.

Six blocks and two turns later, I'm struggling to breathe as we reach Faith. She's just outside the old rusty gates that lead into the cemetery. My eyes widen at the same time that Spike curses in shock. There are something like thirty vamps around Faith. Spike shoves me back and rushes into the fray.

I look around and take up position to the side of the melee. In situations like these--with all the chaos--my standard approach doesn't apply. It's too difficult to focus my magic in such a crowd, and to make sure that the people on my side don't get caught in it. I take a deep breath and lift the crossbow, then target a vamp at the edge of the...skirmish. Taking a quick aim, I let the bolt fly and am sighting another vamp before the first's dust has fallen. Another bolt finishes sliding into place just in time for me to dust the second vamp.

It's not a quick process, but it forces me to stay calm, which is always good. I don't necessarily like that it requires _all_ of my attention, because it means I don't know what's going on with Faith or Spike. But Faith always lets me know when she needs a hand, and I guess Spike will too.

I'm focusing on another target when two vampires notice me and break away from the rest. I stumble back and dust one with the newly loaded bolt while my left hand sketches the air. The other vampire blinks in surprise at the spontaneous light show I set off right in front of his sensitive eyes, and the pause is all the time I need for the next bolt to slide in place so that I press the trigger. Unfortunately, I hear an unwelcome clicking noise that signals the crossbow has jammed. Random jamming is the price to be paid for self-loading bolts, or so Olson claims.

Three more vampires are coming at me now, and I drop the crossbow to the ground because it's just useless unless the fight goes into a five-minute time-out so that I can fix it. Casting is out of the question at the moment, because they're moving too fast and I had to waste time dropping the weapon. Those extra seconds really count when you're dealing with creatures that have preternatural speed. Scooting back some more, I do what I've been instructed to do in situations like this.

"Faith!" I shout out.

One of the three vamps reaches me, and his fist is a blur as it comes at my face. Self-defense is all well and good, but it doesn't give me super human reflexes. Like Faith instructed, I lean into the punch since I can't block it, and then I go tumbling back and land painfully on the ground. I think the leaning in thing works better if the person hitting you isn't a hundred times stronger.

My cheek is throbbing as I scramble backwards. The three vampires are closing in on me, but then one of them explodes into dust, and I see Faith standing there for a second before she starts fighting with the remaining two. I cast and sketch, and Faith stakes them as they suddenly become still as statues.

She holds out a hand and helps me to my feet. "You good?" she asks, her eyes on the fight.

"Yes. Go."

She heads back into the mess and I scan the activity. There are about fifteen vamps left, in two groups. Faith is at the center of one, and Spike is at the center of the other.

"I'm fine," Faith shouts. And she is. Seven is manageable for her.

Spike is not so fine, even though eight is normally manageable for him. He was injured pretty badly, and as much of the surface stuff has gone away, it's obvious that his strength isn't completely back. They're crowded around him so tightly that he barely has any room to throw punches. A quick incantation later, the vamps are scattered back. That includes Spike, because the others were too close to him for me to keep him unaffected.

But it gives him some space, which was mainly what he needed. He spins quickly and stakes a vampire who was trying to sneak up on him, then moves to the left to rush at one that landed away from the rest. With the vamps no longer clumped around Spike, my options are less limited. I immobilized three, and glance over to see how Faith's doing. She's holding her own against the four that aren't yet dust, so I turn back to Spike.

The three vampires I immobilized have broken back into motion. I'd like to say I'm surprised, but I'm not. My casting was hasty and, consequently, slipshod. But it gave Spike enough time to take out another vampire, which is a very good thing. He skirts around a charging vamp, and heads for the three that have just begun moving.

I look at Faith again. She's down to one vampire, and it's a few feet away from her. I confuse it, and she takes it out, not pausing before rushing over to assist Spike. I watch the fight carefully, but don't anticipate having to cast anything else. The five remaining vamps are really no match for a Slayer and a souled vampire who--from what I can see--are both very, very angry.

Spike is just a whirlwind all of a sudden, like he's gotten an adrenaline rush. Maybe he has. Or maybe he just decided that having a soul doesn't mean he can't really like a good fight. As for Faith, the frustration and fear from being so outnumbered initially is being taken out on the last of the vampires. I'd feel bad for them, if they weren't bent on killing us, because she's just holding nothing back.

A couple of minutes after Faith joins Spike, the last vampire's dust crumbles to the ground. The two of them remain tense, and turn in a slow circle to search our surroundings. Faith looks worse for the wear; her jaw is starting to swell, and she's got one arm cradled across her ribs. Spike is rolling his shoulders and flinching at every motion. Me, I exhale a little shakily and notice that the left side of my face feels like it's on fire or something. I'd touch it, but I already know it'll be swollen and tender, and I see no reason to make the pain worse.

"You okay?" I hear Spike ask, and the next second he's standing in front of me, one hand at the back of my head to steady me so that he can poke at my cheek. So much for avoiding additional pain.

I hiss and flinch away, my hands shoving at his. "Ouch!"

"We seriously need to book it home," Faith says abruptly, stepping up behind him.

I pick up the jammed crossbow and Faith curls her lip at it and shakes her head in disgust. We hurry back to the apartment, Faith and Spike tense and alert the entire time. They set us up single file, though neither of them actually proposes this course of action; they just fall into position, Faith in the lead and Spike at the back. The only talking that's done is by Faith, who calls Olson and tersely tells him and Josh to come to our place. Other than that, we're silent because talking would be a distraction that we really don't need.

Personally, I'm going to wait until we're safely home before I even think about how many ways we could have all just died a few minutes ago. The thoughts will most likely be accompanied by some tears and a whole lot of shaking. Not really the shape I want to be in should another gaggle of vampires appear around us.

Olson's SUV pulls into a spot in front of the building not long after we get there, and we wait for him and Josh to join us. They each heft a box out of the back of the SUV, which I know from experience means that they've hauled the research books over here.

Thankfully, they don't ask us any questions until we get inside and close the door. At which point, my knees collapse from under me. I'm kept from landing on the floor in an ungainly heap by Spike, who gets to my side in a blur of color and catches me with one arm at my back, and another at my knees. Before I know what's happening, he's setting me on the sofa.

I've been a lot closer to death. Closer, in a "_I'm_ about to die here's my last thoughts of everyone I've ever loved" kind of way, I mean. There was two months ago, for example, when a Belpor demon was about a second away from carving my heart out of my chest with its claws, until Faith snapped its neck. I'm a lot more shaken right now than I was then. Why? Because Faith and Spike _were_ that close. There are only two thoughts going through my head right now: we're so very lucky, and thank goodness they're alive.

"Tara!" I blink and see Olson leaning over me, a small glass of juice in his hand and a concerned frown marring his brow. I guess I zoned out and lost a few minutes to my shock. Olson lifts my hand and wraps it around the glass, not letting go of it entirely until he's sure I've got it. "Drink this. It'll help."

I frown down at the glass. The juice is sloshing around, and it takes me a second to realize that it's because my hands are shaking. Wait, no. Not just my hands. I knew there'd be shaking involved. Olson places his hand on mine and steadies the glass, gentle pressure raising it to my lips and tilting it back so that I can take a sip.

I give him a smile, but it feels a little...plastic. _I_ feel plastic right about now, actually. Kind of like I've drawn away from my skin and my entire body has gone numb, the way your arm does when you fall asleep with it over your head.

When I bring the glass back to my mouth of my own accord, Olson removes his hand again moves away. The sloshing has decreased, which I take as a good sign.

"Oh, honey," Josh whispers, sitting next to me. He takes the thrown blanket from the sofa back and wraps it around me. "It's all right. You're home and safe now." My eyes seek out Faith and Spike, and I see them sitting at the table with grim expressions on their faces. Josh notices the direction of my gaze and gives me a hug. "_All_ of us are safe, Ta," he assures me.

The hug is what does me in, and the tears come. It's the kind of crying that comes with shock, meaning it's silent and just not enough. Not enough of a release for what brought it on. Josh takes the glass away, because I'm spilling juice everywhere, and holds me tightly.

"They could have died," I murmur. "There were so many. Too many."

"Shh, it's all right."

When I'm done crying, I stay where I am. Comfort is a really good thing at times like these. I listen with half an ear as Faith and Spike tell Olson what happened, but I don't come to attention until Faith says, "There was another vamp there." Her voice is tight and uneasy. "Felt weird, and I couldn't pin down where he was."

"I sensed him, too," Spike admits tersely, his jaw clenched.

"First aid kits," I say lowly, staring to stand up. "They need--"

"Sit down," Josh says firmly, tugging me back onto the sofa. "I'll take care of it. You just...get your bearings, all right?"

I nod and sink back on the sofa, a little relieved that he's going to patch them up. As much as I'd like the distraction of something to do right about now, I think tending to them would just open the floodgates again.

Spike catches my eye. "How are you doing, pet?"

"Better. I'm sorry for...I just...um. I didn't mean to...." I stare down at my blanket-covered lap and wonder if I'll ever be able to take these things in stride the way the others do, instead of letting everything affect me so strongly.

"I need to fix you up," I hear Josh say, and I glance up to see Spike brushing him away and staring at me.

The sharp plains and angles of his face are soft, and his eyes are dark and deep. More like Caribbean water than a sky, now. "Don't you dare apologize," he orders me harshly. I hear the other voices and movements in the room stop. If I were to look away from Spike, I'm sure I'd find everyone staring at us.

He shakes his head, something like astonishment settling over his features. "Stuff you've come through?" he says quietly. "Should have sucked you dry. But it didn't, and you shouldn't ever wish it had. Hear me?"

He's right. I'm so incredibly fortunate to be how and where I am right now. What Spike doesn't realize, as he looks up at me with something akin to wonder, is that I owe a lot of my good fortune to him.

"I hear you," I assure him. " But...could I maybe wish for a vibe?" He frowns in confusion. "You know," I say clarify. "A badass, don't-mess-with-me vibe. I'd still be all squishy inside, but on the outside--hey, I'll cut you."

I fix him with my most menacing glare and raise a threatening fist. He lowers his head, but not before I see his lips twitch. "I think I'd like that," I continue with a nod and his shoulders start shaking. "I'd be the scariest thing in a long print skirt." Choked noises are coming from him, and I turn my head and smile sedately at the others. They're gaping at me. "Grrr," I growl in a soft voice, and Spike can't hold his laughter back anymore.

Faith frowns at Olson. "She _is_ joking, right?"

"I believe so," he says through his own laughter, and Faith starts chuckling.

I frown delicately. "I was being serious," I tell them, and they're back to gaping at me.

Spike had stopped laughing, but he starts up again, and raises his face to address the others. His eyes are sparkling as he says, "Bunch of fools, the lot of you. Of course she's bloody well joking."

My frown deepens. "No I'm not." Spike arches a brow at me and purses his lip. I stare back at him, but I can only keep the frown in place for a couple of seconds before I break out into a wide smile. "Well, maybe a little," I concede.

With another chuckle, he waves Josh over again. "Right, then. Fix me up," he tells Josh, who shakes his head in confusion, but opens the first aid kit.

"You're a dork," Faith snickers at me, and I smile. Sighing, I tuck my legs under me on the sofa, then pull the blanket tighter around me.

"Considering what you told me last night, Spike," Olson says into the slightly more relaxed air, "I think the vampire you two sensed might be the one behind this."

The tension returns again, but lesser now, which is good. Faith reaches for a glass on the table, and downs half its contents. From the shudder she issues, I think Olson insisted she imbibe some of the brandy he stashed here a while ago. Olson slips into the kitchen and returns with our second first aid kit, then pulls up a chair next to Faith. Her eyes flicker, and I think she's going to argue with him about getting patched up, but she sighs tiredly and lets him do what he needs to do.

Josh is having only a little more luck with Spike, who is insisting that he doesn't need "any bloody fucking stitches."

"You put them in," Spike snaps, staring at the suturing thread in Josh's hand, "and they'll be grown over by morning. And you're supposed to be the _smart_ one?" Hm. Perhaps he really did pick up on my PowerPuff Girls metaphor.

"Goddamn it," Josh snaps right back at him. He gestures at Spike's forearm. "You're cut right down to the bone. What do you expect me to do here?"

"Chill out, already," Faith says loudly. "Just stick some of those butterfly bandages on him. Same as you do with me."

"Oh," Josh says, blinking. "Yeah, I can do that."

He isn't normally so, um, well flaky. Really. We knew what we were doing when we sent him off, instead of any of us going ourselves, to get paramedic training. He knows better than stitching Spike, and he's used those butterfly bandages on Faith enough times that they should be what he reaches for before sutures. But I think he's as unsettled as the rest of us are by what could have happened tonight.

And speaking of what could have happened tonight, I really need something to do right about now. I take a breath and wrestle myself out from the blanket, then make my way into the kitchen to heat up some blood for Spike.

"So, we think it's a vamp, then? Behind all of this?" Josh asks a couple of the room at large a couple of minutes later, while he squeezes the sides of the gash together and settles a bandage over it. Noises of ascent follow the question, and I take two mugs out of the microwave.

Olson looks up. "I remember reading something in the Watchers Journals," he says thoughtfully. "A particularly nasty vampire with mystical abilities that could be similar to what we've seen. If I recall correctly, the Slayer who encountered him also said the feel of him was...'off'. Josh?"

I set the blood on the table in front of Spike, and he flashes me a quick smile. Then, Josh is pushing me at Spike's arm, mumbling something about taking over for him. I pick up where he left off and put a fourth bandage on Spike's cut. It's going to need two more due to its length.

Faith and Olson are having a quiet conversation as he pokes and prods at her ribs, and I raise my brow at Spike when I see him narrowing his eyes on them. "Don't eavesdrop. Drink your blood."

A long-suffering look of annoyance comes to his face, but he picks up the blood. And I'm not sure, but I think I see a glimmer of indulgence in his eyes. Interesting.

"Found the reference," Josh exclaims. I set the last bandage on Spike and pat his arm gently, then face Josh. He's sitting on the floor by the door, next to the two boxes he and Olson brought over. He's got his long container of indexed cards between his legs, and is staring at one of them.

Faith pushes Olson aside and gets to her feet. "What do we know?" she asks quickly.

Josh flips the card over and curses. "Jack shit," he says succinctly. "It's from the Watcher Journals I indexed before Mr. High and Mighty took them back."

Giles left only some of the more recent Journals behind for good, and brought the rest back to England with him the last time he visited. Olson rubs a hand across his face and walks slowly to the sofa, collapsing onto it. "I could really do without navigating the touchiness that is Rupert Giles at the moment," he mutters. "Could you get me the phone, Faith?"

I stay her with a shake of my head, then get the cordless phone. Instead of handing it to Olson, I sit at the table and dial. Olson makes an impatient noise. "Tara, there's no need for you to--"

"Yeah, there is," Faith interrupts him harshly. "You and Giles on the phone? I've heard it before, Olson. There'll be civilized but resentful chitchat, followed by an awkward request for help, then an argument. Giles won't call us back for a day, and we don't need to be wasting a day." She nods at me. "Call him."

"It's gotten better," Olson argues.

Josh snorts. "Barely."

I finish dialing, and tune out the conversation that follows, which begins with Spike asking if Giles still has his knickers in a twist. He kind of does, but it's understandable. Overall, the Giles situation is...tense. Although from what Olson has told me, it's less tense than it was before Faith read Giles the riot act during the mess with the Cerno.

I think she gave him a lot to think about when she told him he had to trust us or back off. It's hard to say if he'll ever come to terms with Faith and the rest of us being here, instead of Buffy and her group. But he _is_ trying. He hasn't made any random visits since then, and his phone calls come weekly now, instead of daily.

With a start, I realize that Giles has answered the phone, and by the impatient tone to his greeting, I think he's said it a couple of times. "Oh. Hi. It's Tara."

"Well, hello," he says, surprised. "How are you?"

"Good. I'm, uh, good. And you?"

He chuckles wryly. "I'm good as well. Considering that I'm due to call tomorrow, am I safe in assuming this isn't a social call?"

"It's business," I admit. "We think--well, there's this vampire? And we think he's someone from one of the Journals you left here for a while. We found a reference from when Josh indexed them?" I look up and motion at Josh, and he brings me the card.

"I see," Giles murmurs. "Yes, well, let me get a pen...here we are. What do you have?"

I glance at the card and give Giles the citation that's scrawled across the back. "Oh my," Giles says quietly. "I believe I remember what you're referring to. Sketchily at best," he adds with a sigh. "What makes you think this vampire is the one responsible?"

As best I can, I summarize what we've come up against in the past couple of days. I bite my lip and decide not to mention Spike at the moment. Mainly because I haven't asked if it's all right to tell Giles.

"I'll leave for the Council stacks immediately," Giles says tiredly. "In the meantime, have you considered a sensing spell?"

"What do you mean?" I frown and mime writing something down at Faith. She interprets the gesture and gets me a pen and a pad from the desk in the corner.

"A spell to...give you warning of imminent magical use. It should at least lessen the element of surprise. There are several that I know of," he continues. "But the most reliable is in the Greigh."

The Greigh is a hefty spell book whose contents are mostly out of my league. "Um, that's probably not an option, then."

"It's one of the simpler spells," he hurries to assure me. "I know there's a copy of it at the Magic Box. Look for the Evigilo. I believe it should be manageable for you to cast."

I scribble down that, and the rest of what he tells me about the spell, and then we hang up with a soft, "Do be careful" from Giles' end of the line.

"The Greigh?" Olson comments, coming up behind me and peering over my shoulder before taking a seat beside me. "One of the few books we didn't bring over."

"Hm, well we can get it during the day," I say absently, pondering all that Giles told me. "Giles was heading over to look through the Journals. He said he'll call when he has something for us."

"What did he recommend?"

Olson's voice is casual, but it's not a pretense. Giles can, at times, be difficult for Olson to deal with, but Olson is well aware that we're fortunate to have someone with Giles' knowledge and resources at our disposal.

"Some kind of early warning detection spell," I reply. "To gives us...a heads up? For the appearing vamps. I won't know if I can do it until I take a look at it, though."

Olson nods, then looks around the room, his eyes zeroing in on Faith, who is now sitting on the stairs. "You're in for the evening," he says firmly. Her ready acceptance of this is all the proof we're likely to get that the thirty-on-one odds made her nervous earlier. "If Tara can perform this spell, then we'll all be patrolling tomorrow."

Faith straightens up. "The fuck you will," she snaps. "Not unless that spell gives you Slayer powers."

"Yes we will," Olson counters, his tone steely. "Tara has been helpful twice already, and if things continue the way they have been, you and Spike could use two more sets of hands."

"He's right, Slayer," Spike says curtly. "I'm not in top condition by a long shot."

Hands tangled in her hair, Faith dips her head for a moment. I see her take in a deep breath, then she looks up and nods. "All right. Fine."

Olson glances at Josh, his face tight. "I want you in a residence after dark. You are not to be in the Magic Box or on your way somewhere when the sun sets." Almost as an afterthought, he looks at me. "You as well."

"You two are staying here tonight," Faith orders Olson and Josh.

"Where the hell are we supposed to sleep?" Josh asks caustically.

Spike smirks around his mug. "Bathtub's comfy, from what I remember."

Josh gives him the finger and then pulls himself to his feet, making his way to Olson and sitting beside him. I look at the pair of them. "You can stay in Faith's room. Spike, that means you'll need to take the sofa. Is that all right?"

He nods his agreement, and reaches for the second mug. I take the empty into the kitchen and prepare another helping of blood.

"Been a while since we had a slumber party," Josh notes. "Who's up for giving me a pedicure?"

*

We bunk down a few hours later, at a time that's unnaturally early for a crisis period. By ten o'clock, the lights are off and we've all had our turn to shower. I'm setting Spike up with spare blankets and pillows in the living room, and he stops my fussing over the sofa by taking hold of my wrists.

"Should get some sleep. Been a rough night," he tells me.

I look around and sigh. "I...I don't like leaving you down here alone," I confess. "Maybe you could stay upstairs? With the rest of us?"

He rolls his eyes. "I'll be fine. Besides, where would I sleep?" he questions archly. "Not really interested in being that up close and personal to Josh and Olson's...cuddling." He smirks and my lips twist. "And I'm damn well not crashing on the floor next to Faith, that's for sure. I'd wake up in worse shape than I'm already in, what with her flailing limbs."

"How do you know about her flailing limbs?" I ask him, twitching a brow.

A finger taps my nose. "Gutter mind. Seen her sacked out on the sofa more than a few times."

I open my mouth, then close it abruptly. Spike's eyes soften and he nods in approval and understanding. I had been about to ask him if he'd be willing to share my bed, because we've shared before. But the thing is, when we shared before? It seemed like comfort at the time, but with hindsight it was more like hiding away from what we needed to be facing.

"Let me know if you need anything," I tell him, and make my way upstairs.

Faith is already strewn across the sleeping bag on my floor, lying on her stomach with her arms and legs stretched out in every direction. Her eyes are open, but tired. The fight was hard and even though there are hours until her normal bedtime, I'm surprised she's still awake.

I click the light off and slip into bed. The adrenaline rush from earlier is well and truly gone, and within fifteen minutes I'm asleep. Sometime during the night I wake up, not sure why. My eyes automatically go to the mirror above my dresser, in case Khentimentiu has dropped by. All I see is the reflection of my room, so I look around. Faith is sitting up in the sleeping bag. I can't see her face, but it seems like she's staring at me.

"Everything all right?" I ask her, sitting up a bit.

"Yeah," she grunts. "It's just...don't do that again."

I tilt my head to the side. Her voice is clipped, but it sometimes gets like that when she's upset about something, and not just when she's angry. "Do what?"

"You were a fucking mile away. Thought those vamps were gonna do you in."

Mile away? Vamps? Oh. Oh, my. With the Belpor demon? It tackled me to the ground and raised its claw suddenly, but Faith was only a foot or so away at the time. For her, I guess, I was closer to death tonight when those three vampires came after me, because she was a good fifteen feet away and fighting off a mob.

"I won't do that again," I promise her softly. It's not really a promise, though, because it's out of my control. But it's an assurance of sorts, and it's the best I can offer. "Do you want to come up here?"

I see the shadows flicker as she shakes her head. "Nah. I'm good." She settles back down again. "Night."

"Night."

* 


	5. Chapter Five

The next morning, I get up around eight and wash and change in the bathroom before I carefully wake Faith, glad that I stayed out of striking distance when her fist shoots out before she's awake. She stares blearily at me and I tell her to scoot up to my bed. She does so with staggering motions and eyes that are only half-open.

Josh and Olson are up and moving when I head downstairs. Spike is lying on the sofa, still asleep I think, and his chest is just a mess of bruising. I guess he took mostly body shots last night. I prepare a mug of blood and wake him as carefully as I did Faith, and he sits up and takes it from me, drinking with little comprehension of what's gong on.

"Go on up to Faith's room," I tell him as Josh and Olson come downstairs. He does so with his own staggering movements that have me shaking my head at how alike Faith and Spike can be sometimes.

"Breakfast?" Olson asks.

Olson make the best omelets French Toast I've ever had. Ever. "Absolutely!" I say enthusiastically.

Josh makes a pot of coffee and comes out with a cup of it and some juice for me. We sit on the sofa and wake up, with Josh flipping to the Cartoon Network so that we can watch some mindless entertainment.

"I don't like this show," I say when Pokemon comes back from commercial.

He slants a look in my direction. "Is it the unnatural self-imposed slavery of the Pokemon that ruffles your militant feathers?" he asks archly, but like he promised, his eyes are twinkling.

"Um, actually, it's the way the Pokemon can only say their names." I shiver a little. "All those intonations. It's creepy."

Leaning over, Josh kisses my cheek. "You're too cute, Ta."

He obligingly changes the channel and stops at a video station where we alternatively grin or frown at whatever music video is playing until Olson serves up breakfast.

"How are you doing, Tara?" Olson asks just as we begin to eat.

I'm tempted to dismiss the question as casual conversation, but Olson doesn't partake of casual conversation, which means he's maybe concerned. "I'm worried about Spike," I admit with a sigh. "And I had another nightmare. And last night wasn't really fun, either."

"Poor thing," Josh says sympathetically, reaching for a plate in the center of the table. "Here, have some more bacon."

I chuckle at his fretting, which tends to show up a bit more than usual when Faith's not around. Just like Faith's soft-side shows up more when he's not around. They're kind of enablers of each other's attitudes, I think.

"Once we get some breathing room," Olson says to me, "you might want to see Dr. White."

"Mm. I'd already decided to do that," I assure him. "But until then...it's hard."

"What about Spike?" Josh asks around a mouthful of toast. "I mean, a soul? Why? And I didn't even know a vamp could just go out and get one." He frowns at Olson. "Did you know that?"

"No, I didn't. But I'm also not on first name terms with the Egyptian ruler of the destiny of the dead," he says dryly. "And Spike and Tara are."

They look at me, and I wipe my lips with a napkin. "Dawn. She's the why," I add at their confused looks. Comprehension replaces confusion, and then it's obvious they want more information. "Spike is...Spike." I shrug helplessly. "I don't, uh, really know what else to say."

"He's screwy," Josh states plainly. "Not in a crazy way, but in a not-Spike way."

That's not true, not really. What everyone is seeing now--the silences and the pained gaze--is just as much Spike as the snarky arrogance is. I saw it enough after everyone else died. So did Dawn and Giles, too.

"To be expected," Olson reminds Josh. "There's a lot to cope with, I'm sure." He tilts his head at me and frowns irritably. "I'm trying to restrain myself, Tara, but when can I--"

"Interrogate him?" I finish with a smile. He nods while Josh snorts. "Give him a few more days. But--don't expect much. Some things are really private, you know?"

Josh rolls his eyes. "So, is he going to stick around, or disappear off into the night again?"

I shrug again. At this point, I have no idea what Spike is going to do. He doesn't either, I don't think. "Would you guys, uh, mind? If he stayed?"

The men trade a look, and then Olson sets his fork down. "We're hoping he will, actually," Olson tells me carefully. "Faith could use someone to share the burden."

I study his face, which is so very bland. "You're worried about her, aren't you?" I say softly. "Um, more than you've said, I mean."

He dips his head and then resettles his napkin on his lap. "There are a lot of things that we can assist her with, that we can understand. But there are some that we--can not."

Pushing my plate away, I sigh quietly. He's right about that. We're a great support system for her, but the majority of what she does--the solitary hours-upon-hours of Slaying--is something that we can't help her with regularly, nor is it something that we can really grasp the toll of.

"When Spike was here," Josh picks up, his tone serious, "there was someone around who understood the violence in her. Not bad kind of violence," he hurries to clarify. "But just the natural violence that comes with the Slayer deal."

I tuck my hair behind my ears and look from Josh to Olson. "It's all very...complicated," I say with a sigh.

"Such is the way of our lives," Olson drawls unsympathetically. I frown at him, then turn my attention back to my French Toast.

As Josh and I are cleaning up from the meal, Giles calls. The news isn't good, but it's not bad either. Olson takes the call at the table, making notes as he goes, and Josh and I load the plates into the dishwasher.

Olson gives us the details after he hangs up. "His name is Niall," he says grimly. "Believed to be around three-hundred years old, and moderately gifted mystically. Giles contacted some of his various sources, who indicated that until recently, Niall was content to have control of the demon population of Pittsburgh."

"Is there even a demon populace in Pittsburgh?" Josh asks with a snort.

Olson shrugs, a rueful smile on his lips. "You'd be surprised." The smile fades away. "Anyway, about a month ago, Niall quite suddenly became obsessed with the Hellmouth."

"What happened to bring that on?" I ask worriedly. "Is...is something big going to happen?"

"Not so far as I can tell. Or Giles for that matter. According to rumors, Niall received a visit from a very powerful seer, but no one seems to be able to confirm that this meeting happened, nor what might have transpired if it did."

"So the mojo changes the vibes he gives off?" Josh asks.

"So it would seem," Olson replies with a nod. "By all accounts, he's rather nasty, and strong. There hasn't been a territory he's wanted that he hasn't gained control of." His brow furrows for a moment before he turns to me. "Tara--"

I'm already on my feet. "I'll go to the Magic Box now and look into the spell Giles suggested."

Josh decides to come with me, so that the shop might actually be open for a bit today. Sunnydale customers seem unfazed by the random hours Olson keeps it open, but it's never a good idea to close a business without warning, however temporarily the closing may be.

Olson is left to wake the two nocturnals and update them, and Josh and I hurry out of the apartment so that we don't have to witness the scene that's about to erupt. We take Olson's SUV, and Josh drives. We're silent on the trip, each of us pondering what we know, and the alarming amount of things we don't know at this point. Such as, what happened between Niall and the seer? What piqued Niall's interest in the Hellmouth? And how are we supposed to fight off hordes of vampires that just appear out of thin air?

"Is there an official word for a big group of vamps?" I ask Josh curiously.

"None that I've come across," Josh answers as he pulls into a parking spot. He pauses for a moment, then says, "We're lucky Spike's here."

I bite my lip. "Hm."

I don't even want to think what might have happened to Faith last night if she'd been out on her own. Niall sounds less dangerous than some of the other threats that we've dealt with, him being just a vampire and all. But if he can catch Faith unawares with a hundred vamps...well, I don't think even a Slayer's that good.

We retreat back to silence and head into the store. Josh does his opening ritual while I sit at the back table with a tablet of paper and the Greigh. The Leviglio, according to the Greigh, should allow us to sense magical energy emanating from a twenty-foot radius of whoever it's cast on. The spell triggers a tingling sensation along the skin of the individual. I think it's kind of like a little shock--like when you shuffle your feet on the carpet and then touch someone?

I turn the page and my breath catches. There's a large post-it stuck to the second page of the spell, and it's covered with Willow's small, neat handwriting. Hesitantly, I reach out and touch the words, letting my hand drift over them and indulging in memories of study sessions where not much studying got done.

It'll always hurt to think of her. At one time, the idea of that eternal hurt made me want to crawl away from sanity. Nowadays, it seems...right. She was so monumentally important to me that it's comforting to still be able to feel for her, even if she's gone.

A few months ago, this post-it might have tackled me to the ground with the memories and the hurt. But like I said, I've come to terms with Willow, so I take a steadying breath and carefully peel the post-it from the page. I stick it to the next page, which is actually a different spell and force myself back to the task at hand.

Giles was right about my being able to perform the Leviglio. He was also right about the drawbacks, as the footnotes and Willow's post-it confirm what he told me. Sunnydale being the Hellmouth, there is constantly magical energy being expended. Some by the Hellmouth itself, but a lot from the non-human residents. There are some demons that just...exude magical energy. Just leave a trail of it in their wake. Sunnydale has a few of those, I would guess.

What that means is we're going to be getting shocked an awful lot, and will have no way to determine if it's just a random demon's signature, the Hellmouth, or Niall's vampires. Willow's post-it indicates that she looked into some ways of targeting who or what triggers the alarm, but had no luck. My research skills, and knowledge of the texts in the store, aren't limited, but they're nowhere near as extensive as Willow's was; she did, after all, spend five years rifling through their pages. If she couldn't find a way to target the Leviglio, then I'm fairly confident there isn't one. However, this seems to be our only option at the moment.

Reading further, I find a hitch. It's a small one, but it still counts. The Leviglio simply enhances an individual's own magical sensitivity, and Josh is practically a null when it comes to magic. I mean, all living creatures are connected to earth magic, so he has _some_. Some really is the key word, because Josh has the barest amount of sensitivity that something living can have.

I'm also not sure if it will work on Spike. Given that he didn't cause that painful sensation in me when I was housing Will's magic, I'm a little confused about whether his demon nature will count as "magical sensitivity". Then again, when he and I were in Cairo? We went to this demon bar in some kind of old temple, and in order to wind our way through the maze of corridors, we had to follow a...pull. A pull that only works on non-humans and mystical types, according to what Spike told me.

The rest of us are covered. Faith's sensitivity is inherent due to her being a Slayer, and Olson went through plenty of mystical training in the Watchers that he developed a sensitivity. And, of course, I'm a witch.

I spend an hour delving into a book referenced in the footnotes and discover that demons and demon-hybrids can utilize the Leviglio, so that just leaves Josh. Hm. I think I can pull it off by lending him a little bit of mine, but there's no guarantee. As much as Josh hates being left at home on HQ duty--coordinating the rest of us and acting as the wound patcher-upper--there may be no way around it.

Josh helps me gather the ingredients I need, and I still find it strange after all this time to be able to take what I need from the shop without Anya's thinly-concealed irritation about the lack of profit, and Xander's patient explanations about world-savage being more important than the all mighty dollar.

"We need to head back," I tell him, frowning down at the Greigh. He drops the last package of herbs on the table and raises a brow. "I need to meditate for this. And I really think it's in our best interests to have this in place before dark."

"Damn demons showing up during the shortest days of the year," he grumbles as we pack everything in some bags.

"I wonder if we can take it up with their union?" I muse.

"Yeah, yeah, you're a regular comedienne," he drawls sarcastically. "Let me stick the standard 'Closed Due to Family Emergency' sign on the door and we can bolt."

*

We hear the yelling from the courtyard, and come to a stop next to the fountain. I look at Josh. "Is that--"

"And they're back," Josh announces dramatically, managing to seem both amused and annoyed. "Welcome to life with Faith and Spike."

My eyes widen as I cut my eyes in the direction of the door to the apartment. "They argue a lot?" I ask worriedly.

"Oh, yeah," he says emphatically. "Think about it. You've got badass, stubborn, know-it-all Spike, and tough, stubborn, know-it-all Faith. It's a recipe for screaming matches."

I frown at him. "But...I thought you said they were friends?"

Josh nods. "They are. Well, as much as they'd let themselves be, what with the whole soulless vampire and Slayer thing being at issue." He slings an arm around my shoulders and urges me into motion again. "Nothing to worry about. It's probably good, actually. Calm Spike was just as creepy for me as Pokemon intonations are for you."

I scowl and plant a gentle elbow in his ribs. But, he has a point. Spike's attitude has been rather...absent. "Um, what should we do?" I ask hesitantly. "I mean, do we put them in separate corners? Get them to make up?"

We're at the door now, and Josh puts his hand on the knob and grins at me. "Just stay out of their line of fire. Oh, and later? Weigh in on whether you think there's any sexual tension. I say nay, but Olson says yea."

He opens the door and I'm left scowling at his back before I follow him inside. The screaming duo are in the living room. Faith is by the tree and looks to be holding it up by way of a hand on a branch and all of her weight thrown backwards. She's strong enough to lift a small car, so I guess the unwieldy bulkiness of the huge tree is what's making it difficult for her to keep it steady.

"Oh, really," Spike is snapping at her sarcastically. "What do you expect me to do? Scamper in front of the window and hold it up for you?"

Faith looks up, and I bite my lip. There's a large clump of tinsel on the top of her head, and that glown is on her face. Josh is snickering already, and I'm just too stunned to speak. Tinsel-headed Faith isn't something I ever thought I'd see, and it's really...cute. I think she'd appreciate the laughter far more than that sentiment.

"Isn't that what I fucking asked you to do in the first place?" she exclaims irritably.

Spike's lips twist. "Genius idea, what with the sun streaming in."

"_I_ thought so," Faith snaps, then turns the glown on me and Josh. "Would _someone_ get their ass into gear and give me a freaking hand, all ready? Neither of you are daylight challenged."

Josh sets the shopping bag of ingredients down and heads over to her. I close the door behind me so that Spike isn't confined to standing in the small spot of shade by the sofa, and he flashes me a smile. "What happened?" I ask with amusement.

"Twine snapped," he retorts. "Slayer couldn't handle the big bad tree all by her lonesome."

"_Shut_ the _fuck_ up, Spike," Faith calls out. The tinsel has gotten a little lopsided and is now leaning precariously to the left. It's about to fall in her face, and she's not going to be pleased about it. Oh dear, I really have to not laugh.

"Shove it, glitter girl," he drawls.

Josh hides his face _in_ the tree, and the branches around him are shaking. I turn my back to the tree and laugh as silently as I can manage, which isn't all that silent, but luckily Faith is busy trying to get Josh to do what she's telling him to do, so she doesn't notice.

Spike takes a step back and smirks down at me, his eyes glittering in a way I haven't seen since he's been back. There's a cutting edge to his amusement, and that should really not sit well with me. But that edge? It's so very Spike, and it's so very nice to see it again. Even if I think it's going to make Faith even more pissed than she already is.

"Dude, what the hell are you doing over there?"

I glance over my shoulder. The tinsel has slipped some more, and it's hanging over one of Faith's ears, stuck to her hair in such a way that it's not actually touching her skin. She looks a little demented, to be honest, and more ridiculous than anything I've seen in a while. The tinsel and the glown, combined with the way she's got her head cocked to the side...just ridiculous.

Josh falls to his knees, face still buried in the tree. It's obvious that he's trying to mask his laughter, but the choked sounds he's making can't really be credited to anything else but laughing. Spike is snickering, and Faith is staring at us like we've sprouted wings or something.

"What the hell is so funny?" she demands indignantly, head cocking to the other side.

I cover my mouth with my hands and shake with the effort not to laugh out loud at her just as the door opens and Olson comes in. "Oh, you're back," he says, frowning at my hands. "I ran over to my place to get another set of clothes."

His eyes slide to Spike, then over to the tree, and then they widen. He blinks a couple of times. "Faith, you've got some tinsel in your hair," he says neutrally, his face a little too empty of any kind of expression. "Right about..." He lifts his hand and points with a single finger to the left side of his face. "...there."

"For God's sake," she hisses. "Get over here and take this thing."

Olson obligingly takes her place with the tree and props it against the wall. His green eyes are dancing with amusement, and I have to admire his restraint. Faith makes her way to the mirror on the wall by the stairs. She goes still as she stares are her reflection, and a very steady hand reaches up to pluck the silver threads from her hair. My laughter has all but died away, because a still and steady Faith isn't a Faith that is about to laugh at herself anytime soon.

I move behind her and slide my hands through her hair to get the remaining strands of tinsel. She's frowning at her reflection. "You were laughing at me," she says like she's just now realizing it.

My fingers spread, and I shake my hand to dislodge the tinsel onto the floor. I move a little bit closer, until I'm kind of brushing against her back, and my reflection smiles at hers in the mirror. "Yeah," I say softly. "It was pretty funny. The tinsel kind of, um, migrated a couple of times."

Her frown deepens, and I hear Spike snort behind me. "Untwist your knickers, Slayer," he advises caustically. "Nothing to climb a water tower and pick off civilians over."

"No one asked you, Spike," she snaps, turning to curl her lips at him.

"You say that like I care, ducks," he says dryly. "Never waited for permission to point out when someone's being an idiot."

"An idiot? Wanna tell everyone just how the twine snapped?" she asks with a hard grin. "The big bad vampire fell on the tree when I snuck up on him and scared the crap out of him." She folds her arms under her breasts and raises a brow at him. "You squealed like a girly bitch, man."

"Hey!" Spike protests indignantly. "I damn well didn't."

My head swings back and forth between them as they argue the details of what, if any, sound Spike made when Faith did, or did not, sneak up on him. I'm...bemused. This is just very, very odd. Faith isn't easily distracted from her mercurial moods, normally, but I think she's just forgotten that we were all laughing at her and that she should be annoyed by it. Hm.

Josh sidles over to me, a few pine needles stuck to his face and laughter still threatening to burst forth. "See what I meant?" he asks, and I smile at him.

Olson steps in a minute later to haul them back to the situation at hand, and then everyone turns to me. "Oh. Um, I got everything. But I need to mediate for a while to do it." I look at Olson. "I made some notes? Could you..."

He nods. "I'll read them over and pass the information on to everyone. We'll keep it quiet," he assures me, sending a firm look at Faith and Spike. They both roll their eyes and I smile again.

Josh nudges me. "Want me to set things up for you?"

"That would help. I want to do the spell right after I mediate, so that I'm centered."

I leave them to the preparation work, and make my way upstairs. After changing out of my skirt and into a pair of pants, I settle myself on Faith's sleeping bag. I usually do at least a little mediation each day if circumstances permit. What I'm about to do, though, is a bit more focus-driven. The Leviglio may require less power than most of the other spells in the Greigh, but I need my magic to be...well, dense, to pull it off.

The magic is in me, and around me, but packed lightly. What I'm going to do is draw it in tight and then let it swell so that it's denser and has a little more oomph to it. It'll take a couple of hours of visualization and coaxing to do it.

To be honest, there are easier ways of juicing my power up. A quick incantation while holding Faith's hand would do it. So would numerous other spells of the darker variety, and a few of the middle-ground variety. If we were desperate, I might consider the Faith option.

But the thing is...my mother had a strict code for managing and utilizing her power, and she passed it on to me. I don't know how much of her practices were born of the misguided belief that she was a demon whose power had to be carefully managed, but it doesn't matter. There's a lot to be said about what she taught me.

The mediation might take longer, but it doesn't require me to mess around with anything unnatural. It's just me and my magic, working together. There's no temptation to darker paths, nor any consequences of power boosting spells. It's simple and natural.

I close my eyes and measure my breathing, then focus my thoughts on the only thing that has ever completely centered me. I stare into Willow's eyes and then I think of nothing except my magic.

*

When I get back downstairs two hours later, I find that there has been more rearranging done. Our living room is pretty spacious, but with the tree, the decorations and the newly leafed table--not to mention five adults--things have gotten cramped. In order to make room for me to set up a circle, the loveseat has been smashed into a corner, the coffee table sitting on top of it. I have to climb over the sofa, because it's been moved to the foot of the stairs.

Olson comes over to help me clamber over it and I go to the center of the room. Josh has set everything up perfectly. Nothing is missing and its all been lined up in the most efficient manner.

"Did you understand the, uh, side effect?" I ask everyone.

"False alarms," Spike grunts. "Yeah, we got it."

Olson looks pointedly at each of us. "You are to treat all alarms seriously, no matter how tempting it is to disregard them. Understood?"

"Yes, dad," Spike says acerbically.

"You good to go, Ta?" Faith asks me.

I glance again at the preparations Josh has made and I nod. "I'm very good to go."

Olson was apparently very thorough when he went over everything with the others, because they take their places in the center of the room, staying clear of the small bowls that Josh has set on the floor. I kneel down and pick up the sand/salt mixture I prefer for circles.

The circle that I set up is protective, and also serves as containment. Once it's done, I start with blessings to the Goddesses. The spell doesn't actually require this, but it's something else that I always do. The magic might be mine, but I use it at with their sufferance.

I pick up the first ingredient bowl and read the first part of the spell as I dip my fingers in the contents. There's a glow that illuminates it, then fades slowly away. I divide the contents between five empty bowls and then set it aside.

The process is repeated for all of the ingredients, until I'm left with five bowls and a knife. Blood being used in spells is something I generally void. However, I'm not using the blood to perform the spell; I'm just sharing a little with Josh. I'm hoping it'll work.

I slide the knife across the tip of my index finger and let several drops of blood fall into Josh's bowl. Setting the knife aside, I pluck a tissue from the box that he's thoughtfully provided, then I look up.

"Olson."

He slides around the others and hunches down in front of me, and I hold up the first bowl. Glancing at the Greigh, I recite the necessary incantation, then nod at him. He places the tips of all ten fingers in the mixture and repeats what I've just recited. The mixture churns and writhes for a moment, and then seems to gain a life of its own. It oozes away from the sides of the bowl and rises up over his fingers, crawling up his arm at a leisurely pace. It disappears under the sleeves of his sweater, and I know it'll work its way across every inch of him, settling like a fine net, each granule of ingredients strung to another no matter how dispersed it becomes.

He steps back, and I call first Faith, and then Spike, over with the same results.

For Josh, it goes slightly differently after he intones the words. The drops of my blood rise first, sinking into the back of his hand before the mixture does the crawly thing.

I take up my own bowl and finish up. Once the mixture crawls over me, I can almost physically see the walls of the circle I set up. Well, not really. It's kind of like this thing I saw on the Discovery Channel. Apparently, the eyes are only camcorders for vision. The actual things we see? They're really just electrical charges that the eyes register, which then get translated into images by our brain. Some doctor or other decided that maybe an actual camcorder could be used instead, so they set up this tiny little camera and hooked it up to this gizmo that feeds the images to the tongue, which then sends them to the brain.

And, voila. A sweet little blind girl named Beth can "see". The images aren't the sharpest, but they're more than she's ever seen before. I feel like my magic has been hooked up to one of those things, and I'm "seeing" other magic. It's kind of neat, and a little disturbing at the same time.

Shaking my head, I recite the last incantation of the spell, then offer thanks to the Goddesses before breaking the circle.

"Well, it works," Faith announces. "Got a tingle when you did the guys."

She smirks at the double--or is that triple?--entendre, and Josh gives her an appreciative high-five.

A few minutes later, we're discovering just how disconcerting the alarm can be. With all of the mystical energy the people in the room have, we're going off like crazy. After some experimentation, we determine that close proximity to one another prevents the alarms from triggering, so we sit at the table and scoot our chairs close together, and figure out our next move.

Or, rather, they tell me what our next move is since they discussed it while I was "ohm-ing", as Josh puts it. "Willie's?" I repeat.

Faith nods. "Yeah. Find out if this Niall has been seen around, if he's been talking to anyone. The usual."

"Gathering intel," I state knowingly, and Spike narrows his eyes at me. I smile blandly back at him. I once mocked him for using that phrase, and I chose it deliberately just now. Of course, he knows that I did, so he lifts to fingers in a backwards peace sign, which I learned not long after meeting him is the British equivalent of the middle finger.

"We're still trying to decide whether Spike or Faith will have the most luck getting information," Olson continues. "Either way, we'd like you to go as well, since your tricks come in handy.."

"Not all of us would like that," Faith denies irritably. "But apparently being the Slayer doesn't give me veto power, which is just fucking unfair."

"So you've stated," Olson says steadily. "Many times. Get over it."

"Yeah, this isn't a Slayocracy," Josh pipes in.

"Josh."

Josh takes the not-so-subtle hint and sinks back in his chair. Olson has a remarkable ability to convey a world of irritation and reprimand with one syllable. I think dealing with these three one-syllable named people has tried his nerves a lot today.

"Faith," I state.

"Yeah?" she replies.

"No, I meant Faith should be the one to go," I explain. "You know, to show we're not, uh, playing around."

Josh opens his mouth, but Olson gives him a look that conveys even more than his one syllables do, and Josh refrains from speaking. "We had actually been leaning more towards Spike," he tells me forthrightly. "His manner of getting information is slightly less violent, since he's on speaking terms with several informed demons. Considering what happened the one and only time you went to Willie's with Faith..."

Oh. That. I squirm a little uncomfortably.

"The 'show them we're not playing around' thing?" Faith says cynically. "Doesn't work when one of us is crying and pleading with the other to leave Willie alone."

"Bloody hell," Spike groans incredulously. "You _cried_?"

I squirm a little more. "Just a little," I say weakly.

Spike raises a brow at the group. "I'm changing my vote."

"Yeah, now you see sense," Faith comments. "Couldn't have done that maybe an hour ago when World War Whisper was raging?"

"It wasn't like I was, uh, sobbing or anything..." I continue awkwardly, and there's a chorus of groans. "And it was because he's, you know, human."

"Tara stays here," Olson sighs.

"I wouldn't do that if Spike had to...rough up a demon." I frown. "At least, I don't think I would."

"You're staying here," Josh tells me impatiently.

"Oh. Well, that's probably for the best," I concede.

Spike snorts. "Probably?" Okay, maybe definitely for the best. "Right about now I'm thanking whatever deities are listening that you didn't pull that kind of crap in Italy, pet."

I shrug a little helplessly. "In Italy I just had to concentrate and the vamps just...combusted."

"And you haven't pulled out that particular trick...why?" Josh asks archly.

I stay silent, and Spike glares at Josh. "You're a right little bitch, aren't you?" he sneers.

"Oh, shit," Josh whispers, his eyes going wide. He leans across the table, his face earnest. "I'm sorry, Ta. I didn't think."

"It's all right," I say softly. And it is, actually. That was a Willow-power thing, and while it had come in pretty handy, it went back to her with everything else. I didn't respond to him mainly because I thought it would click with him after he said it. "So, who _is_ going, then?"

"Faith and Olson," Spike says immediately. "Tara's right about us needing Faith to make a bloody example." He smirks at the Watcher. "And I've seen you hand-to-hand. Impressive."

"How--how do you think they're finding Faith?" I ask thoughtfully and everyone looks at me. "I mean, do they have a lookout? Or are they tracking her somehow?"

"Good question," Olson said grimly, his eyes flickering to the rest of the group. "Keep alert for any stray vampires or demons." He looks at me. "Will the Leviglio alert her if someone's trying to do a locator spell?"

"Mm, yes..." I murmur, getting up and going to the wall by the door. "But she won't be able to tell that's what it is." There's a trunk of sundry items by the door, and I rummage through it and come up with a hemp necklace that has a crystal dangling from it. Faith groans when she sees it.

"And once again, I'm going to be sporting hippie chic style," she drawls, holding up her hand. My toss is pretty far off the mark, and the crystal pelts Olson on the side of the head. With a grunt of irritation he hands it to Faith.

"What's this one do?" Josh asks curiously as Faith slides the necklace of her head.

"It'll interrupt a locator spell," I tell him. "Scramble the reading unless I'm the one doing it." I tilt my head to the side and reconsider. "Or you, actually, since I kind of shared with you."

"Good enough," Olson says with a nod. He gets to his feet. "Arm up and let's go."

*

Josh, Spike and I stick together, and we start out the patrol at a cemetery close to Willie's, just in case the others need us, or we need them.

"So, are you planning on letting Dawn know about your bright and shiny new soul?" Josh asks suddenly.

You really have to admire his forthright nature. I tend to wait for an opening to present itself, while Josh just bursts through without invitation. I reevaluate that thought when I see Spike's face. Okay, maybe you _don't_ have to admire it.

"Plan on minding your own business anytime soon?" Spike retorts sharply.

Josh sniffs cutely. "You wouldn't love me half as much if I did."

Spike makes a sound of irritation. "Don't love you at all," he drawls.

"Of course you do," Josh says slyly, bumping Spike with his hip. Spike glares coldly down at Josh, who moves as far away from Spike as he can get while still remaining on the sidewalk.

We take another few steps before I casually scoot closer to Spike and hitch my hip to the side, neatly bumping him. He tilts his head down. "Brat," he says dryly, reluctant amusement sliding in and out of his blue gaze. I grin up at him and lace my arm through his, and he rolls his eyes.

"Why doesn't _she_ get the glare of death?" Josh complains from Spike's other side.

"'Cause her hips are softer," Spike snickers.

"When _are_ you going to tell Dawn?" I ask, easily stepping through the opening Josh presented when he first asked.

"Don't start," Spike says tightly, and his arm tenses under my hand.

I ignore his obvious desire to avoid the subject. "She has a right to know. More than anyone else, really."

"Not going to turn her all around again," he snaps. "Been through enough as it is."

I raise a brow and tug at his arm. "True, but this is a good thing, you know."

He looks down at me, his face a little desolate. "Soul doesn't make me any less a vampire, pet. Chip neither."

I scowl at him. "You're being so--"

My phone chirps, and Olson's urgent voice sounds. "Get Tara home immediately."

Spike turns me around by way of our linked arms, then disentangles himself as we pick up our pace in the opposite direction. "Arm yourselves," he orders us flatly, his eyes scanning the street. He moves me between him and Josh, and I raise my crossbow in my right hand. "Tara, answer him."

With my left hand, I pull out the phone and fumble a bit before I manage to connect to Olson. My heart is pounding in my chest and I think my body wants to hyperventilate. "We're heading home," I tell him quickly.

There's a rustling sound, then Faith is on the line. "Where are you?" she demands to know.

I look up at Spike and he answers without pausing his relentless search of the area in front of us. "Two blocks north of Sunnydale Arms," he says shortly.

I pass that information on to Faith, who says they're going to meet up with us. "Niall was asking around about you," she adds angrily. "Keep your eyes open."

"Shit," Josh mutters, raising his own crossbow. "Let's hurry."

A moment later the three of us wince in unison as a small shock runs across all of our skins. "Move it," Spike grounds out, and then we're practically running down the street. Spike grabs the phone from my hand. "Four blocks from the Arms and about to get company," he hisses, and then shoves the phone in his pocket.

They appear in front of us, which is just rotten luck. If we hadn't turned around, they would have been behind us. We come to a stumbling halt, Josh and I huffing a bit from the exertion, and Spike's face shifting into its vampiric visage.

There are only six vampires in front of us, which has me frowning in confusion. Then I see the figure step out of the shadows and I realize that this isn't an attack party. The six vampires are bodyguards for Niall, who has come fully into the light and is facing us now. He's a little over six feet tall, and built along lean lines. His skin is exorbitantly pale, even for a vampire, and I think it's because he was pale during his life. His hair is a sandy brown color that is caught at the nape of his neck in some kind of tie to keep it off his face.

I shiver a little when I look into his gray eyes. There's something cold and hard about him, something so very determined. Then, his eyes flare, and suddenly my knees threaten to buckle. I grab Spike's arm for support. Oh, god. The power coming off of Niall is just...overwhelmingly dark and strong. It's hugely encompassing, like a forest fire, while I'm a flickering match in comparison. I can feel it trying to coat me, to sink into me, and I take a deep breath and tighten my magic around me so that there's no way his can get in. A lot steadier now, I take my hand from Spike's arm and raise the crossbow.

"Impressive," Niall murmurs, tilting his head in my direction. "I'd heard you were powerful, but it's quite another thing to see it firsthand."

I manage not to frown, but it isn't easy. Powerful? I'm not powerful, not in the way he means.

"All this trouble for a little show and tell?" Spike asks caustically, lighting a cigarette and arching a brow. Spike is really good at being utterly unimpressed by anything, unless it suits him otherwise. Come to think of it, so is Faith. Me, I'm not so good at that, so I decide to keep my mouth zipped and let Spike take the wheel on this.

Niall smiles, and it's a tight stretching of his lips. "Spike, I presume," he says slowly. "I wasn't sure I believed the numerous rumors. Your clan has really sunk low, hasn't it?" A feral grin replaced the smile. "Helping Slayer after Slayer. You were revered for your kills, Spike. Now you shelter them. It's pathetic."

"Always good to keep everyone on their toes, I say," Spike retorts blandly, but I know him well enough to sense the anger beneath his casual tone.

Niall shrugs, his gray eyes falling on me again. "And you, little witch," he whispers, his eyes drifting closed. "You're the purest white magic I've ever seen." His eyes open and they're yellow. "And you're standing in my way of getting the Hellmouth for myself."

So he's delusional. That's not really uncommon for demons that want to take over Sunnydale. I mean, yeah, I had a hand in preventing his...assassins from getting Faith out of the picture, but that's a far cry from standing in his way.

Spike growls at him, the cigarette getting tossed aside. "Might want to focus your attentions elsewhere," he advises coolly, taking a step forward. "Hellmouth's not up for grabs."

"I think my attention is focused right where it should be," Niall replies calmly, his eyes not leaving me. He shakes his head, something like furious awe coming into his eyes, and then he raises a hand and I feel my skin get shocked by the alarm.

I can see it. I can see the blackness that would normally be invisible. See it come at me, and I send a strand of magic out to shove Spike aside when he moves to step in front of me. The blackness hits me and I get tossed backwards, landing on my back a little painfully and having enough presence of mind not to let go of the crossbow. I'm vaguely aware of Josh and Spike fighting with the bodyguards, of them keeping Niall from making his way to me.

I'm more concerned with the way Niall's magic is trying to...seep into me. Into tiny little pores in my magic. Scrambling back desperately, I close my eyes and focus on pulling my magic in tight so that there are no pores for the blackness to make use of, and then imagining my magic as something slippery that forces the blackness to slide off harmlessly.

Shakily, I get to my feet and narrow my eyes at Niall. He's glaring at me, rage making his body shake. But...he's somewhat close to empty. I blink and use the sight the Leviglio gives me. It shouldn't be the case, but it is. As powerful as Niall is, he's a, uh, sprinter. Good for short, hard-hitting bursts of magic.

I lift my free hand in the air, sketching while I cast, and at the same time I take aim with the cross bow. Niall gets disoriented and I let the bolt fly, but there's a gust of wind that comes out of nowhere and sends the bolt off target. It strikes him just above his heart.

There are footsteps coming from the left, through the park, and both Niall and I whip our heads around to see Faith and Olson heading our way. Niall snarls at me, and the Leviglio flares just before he's gone. No poof of smoke, no sound effects, just gone.

Faith and Olson hurry to assist Josh and Spike, and I stand in the middle of the street and watch the vestiges of Niall's magic dissipate into nothingness. I don't know why, but something feels incredibly wrong about what just happened. I'm trying to figure out what doesn't sit well with me, when a hand suddenly grabs my elbow and jerks me forward, causing the crossbow to fall from my grasp with a clatter.

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?" Spike shouts at me, his face lowered until it's just inches from mine. He shakes me and my teeth rattle a little.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Faith striding towards Spike, but I hold up a hand and she pauses. The anger is leaking from Spike's face, and I see the concern hovering on the edges and waiting to come out. I reach up to cup his cheek in the palm of my hand. I tilt his face a little and meet his eyes.

"It's all right," I breathe, my thumb rubbing circles on his cheek. His hand tightens on my arm, and I force myself closer so that I can rest my forehead at the crook of his neck. There's a shiver, and then his arms are wrapped around me.

"Damn it, Tara," he sighs against my ear. "You'll give me a soddin' heart attack one of these days."

"It'll keep you young," I say seriously, and he chuckles harshly.

Spike and I step away from each other I'm subjected to concerned looks from the others. "Josh told us what happened," Olson says. "Are you all right?"

I think about that for a moment. "I'm absolutely fine," I assure them all, and they seem to relax. "What about the rest of you?"

"I took out two on my own," Josh announces, but the bravado seems forced. "I'm, like, the Male Slayer."

Faith snickers and shoves at his shoulder. "Yeah, you're hardcore," she says sarcastically.

"We're all fine," Olson tells me, and I feel myself relax as well. "But I think we should get home now. Things seem to have gotten...complicated."

Of course they have. That's the nature of "things" after all. With sighs all around, we start walking back to the apartment.

* 


	6. Chapter Six

The bad guy--Niall--thinks I can defeat him.

"That's...insane," I mutter, staring around at the others. "He's, uh, really powerful. Why would he think that?"

"That would be one of the ten million freaking things we don't know," Faith sighs, running her hands through her hair. "All we found out was that he came into town specifically to get a look at you."

I shake my head again and look at Olson. "What, exactly, did you hear?"

Olson frowns, pausing to think. "That Niall was told there was a witch in town who could defeat him, and that the witch should take priority over the Slayer."

It's my turn to frown. "It...it doesn't make sense," I say with exasperation. "I _can't_."

Olson nods. "I thought not. Which means that he was purposely fed false information."

"How the hell did you get there from here?" Faith bites out. "She helped take out those vamps. That could be why she's seen as a threat."

Both Olson and I shake our heads. "The magic she used for that doesn't hint at the type of power Niall thinks she has," Olson replies.

"Power?" Spike repeats slowly. "What if it's about what she did when she had Will's power?"

"Doesn't fly," Josh answers immediately. "Those Arcepts have been bitching far and wide that Tara did the Cerno and kept them from getting Willow's magic. Everyone knows she doesn't have it anymore."

"I heard something else," Faith admits. "Something like the Owl of Shaltan."

"Owl?" Josh repeats dubiously.

"Not who-who owl. Something ending with that sound." She crosses her arms defensively. "He had tusks, and he wasn't easy to understand."

"Cowl," Spike tells us. "The Cowl of Shaltan. Niall thinks it's here and accessible?"

Faith shrugs. "All I know is he's had some of his lackeys sniffing around for it."

"We'll have to look into it," Olson says decisively.

"Don't bother," Spike says, going to the table and taking a seat. "It's not here and it's not accessible." We're all staring at him and he rubs the back of his neck. "It's the crest of a high Latzal demon, and it's currently on its owner's head in New Orleans. Nothing short of the bugger taking it off voluntarily, putting it on Niall's head, and muttering some words, will get it off or make it useful to."

"Um, confused," I say. "Why would Niall want it?"

"Cowl offers invulnerability to its wearer," Spike states. "It's a Latzal trinket, but it can work on other species. If they get permission. Can't wrest it away from the bloke, can't kill him to get it." He frowns in consideration. "Suppose he could abandon it--leave it up for anyone willing to take it. But as of a week ago it was on the Latzal and he wasn't entertaining the idea of sending it off into the wild."

Faith seems as confused, worried and frustrated as we all are. "So Niall got sent out to catch jackanapes?"

"So it seems," Olson sighs, sitting next to me and pressing the heels of his hands against his forehead. "He was sent to Sunnydale, for something that is not here and is rather useless to him even if it were. He was most likely told that taking control of the Hellmouth was the best way of gaining it. More alarmingly, he was also told that Tara is his biggest threat."

I don't like the implications of that at all. Josh leans around me to look at Olson. "Are you trying to say that someone wants her dead, and went through all of this to get it?" he asks carefully.

"I'm not saying anything," Olson mutters as he drops his hands from his face and sinks back onto the couch. "Except that Niall has been manipulated into coming here, and targeting Tara. I doubt he's aware of it, and I doubt this is actually about killing Tara." He flashes me a brief, reassuring smile. "There are far simpler ways to go about that."

"We have no way of knowing what it's about," I say with frustration. "I mean, if you think about it? Niall probably got all of this information from that seer who Giles can't find out anything about."

Faith gets to her feet and tucks the stake at the small of her back. "Not acceptable," she says resolutely. "Our entire plan is _not_ going to be to dust Niall."

Spike frowns at her. "Why the hell not?"

"Because he might not show up again," she reminds him, then looks at Olson. "We need to know who Niall powwowed with."

"I agree, but how?"

"There's a way, and we'll figure it out," Faith announces to us, no arguments allowed. "Until then, we keep Tara safe and we dust Niall if he shows his face."

Josh shifts next to me and rolls his eyes. "And we hope that the million people in this town who know where to find you don't tell Niall's goons, and that they don't come to burn you and Tara out."

"Just like we do on a day to day basis," Faith says coolly, then turns to Olson again. "Call Giles. Get every scrap of information he has on that meeting--rumors, guesses, whatever. We need it fast, too."

There's a noise from Josh. He doesn't look all that pleased. "Great. You just know that he's going to come running over to 'help'."

Faith's face tightens and she strides of to us and stares down at Josh. "I don't give a crap about Giles' issues with us, ours with him, or whether or not he comes here," she says slowly. "We need all the help we can get. Period."

It actually is a Slayocracy around here rather often. When Faith gets this way--all ordering and serious and on-the-ball--we just go with what she says. I think it's a Slayer thing, that attitude. Whether it's _why_ someone gets Chosen, or if it's _part_ of getting Chosen, doesn't matter. It's there. The commanding presence and the intensity that has people obeying with very little questions.

I think she should use it a lot more, but generally she just voices her opinions in a Faith way, instead of a Slayer way. That's what leads her to getting overruled. And the reason she uses it sparingly is because she feels inadequate a lot of time. I mean, she knows she's a Slayer, and she knows she's good at it. But the rest of the stuff? Strategizing, leading, making decisions that affect others and could result in injury or death? She doesn't think she has a right to do that, because that was what Buffy had a right to do. Not Faith.

Faith is staring around the apartment at the decorations, and I realize with a start that it's Christmas Eve. Our plan for tomorrow was devised in such a way as to give Josh and Olson the day alone together, and allow Faith to sleep in until her usual sunset. Festivities are slated to start just after dusk.

"We're postponing Christmas."

To my surprise, it's Josh that speaks up. "The fuck we are. It's bad enough we're hiding away, we're not letting them screw up our Christmas."

Olson sighs and cranes his head back to look at Josh. "We're in the middle--"

"Something is always going on. We're not letting that something be _everything_." Josh looks around and then nods. "New plan: Eric and I will go to our place in the morning to get our presents, then come back so he and Tara can do the cooking. We'll confine the festivities to daylight, and we can talk about and plan for what's going on. But not while we eat, and not while we're exchanging gifts. I think it's a fair enough compromise."

There's a whole lot of silence after that, and it's because Josh is the last person any of us would have expected to take up the Christmas cause. Finally, Spike speaks up. "Pretty boy has a point. Shouldn't let them take anything from you."

"All right," Faith grudgingly agrees, her eyes on me. Then they narrow, and she turns to Spike. "I need to know if you can do this."

His face twists. "Christmas?"

"Fight," she counters. "Because what I saw the other night in the cemetery? Not Spike fighting."

"He was injured," I remind her, but she shakes her head and doesn't remove her gaze from Spike.

"You know what I'm talking about," she tells him. "And it's fine if you can't. I just need to know what to expect is all."

Spike's face gets really tight and thin, and the muscle at his jaw jumps. "Good question," he says darkly, then gets to his feet. "I'm going out."

I make a noise and rise. Olson puts a hand on my arm to stop me from following after Spike. "Tara, I don't think that's a good idea," he says flatly.

I shake his hand off and run out of the apartment. It takes me a few moments to catch sight of him, and I call out his name as I jog his way. He comes to a stop and waits for me, and when I get to his side, his eyes are glittering like shards of broken glass.

"You shouldn't have brought me here," he grinds out.

I close my eyes and feel the tears welling up. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to...help."

"Help?" he rasps out, a bitter laugh following the word. My eyes open. His hands are clenched into fists at his side. "You think this is helping me? This damn soul didn't come with an instruction booklet, Tara. All I wanted to do was figure the bloody thing out, not get dragged into the middle of this mess."

"I didn't know what to do," I tell him softly. "I--Khentimentiu said you needed my help. I had to do something, and I didn't know this, uh, mess was going to happen. I didn't mean to...to make it worse."

His lips curl. "Well, guess what, pet? You did." He tosses his hands up in frustration, then tangles them through his hair. "Can you even comprehend what it's like?" he asks intently.

"No," I whisper, shaking my head.

"It's like getting ripped apart," he hisses, stalking towards me. I swallow and stare at him. "Getting sliced up from the inside with conflicting urges." He stops just a few inches from me, and my hands start shaking. "And you can't just expect me to be able to _ignore_ it. To go out and fight like none of it is going on. It takes everything I've got to keep a hold on myself."

I duck my head and let the tears fall. For all that he's done for me, he didn't deserve this in return. "You should...you should leave," I say thickly, backing away. "I'm sorry. And I know that doesn't make anything better. But I am. So sorry. I won't--I won't bother you again. I swear."

Turning, I run back towards the apartment. He doesn't call after me, and he doesn't try to catch me. I'm a fool. A really big fool. I thought I could return his favor, help him like he helped me. I thought I knew him well enough that I would know how to do it. Instead I've just complicated everything for him.

When I rush back into the apartment, the conversation fades away and everyone looks at me. I'm still crying, and all I can really do is just shake my head at them before I drag myself upstairs. Once there, I look around, lost as to what to do. I slink into my room and take my coat off, then curl up on my bed.

Olson comes by to check on me, but I ask him to leave me alone for the moment. I've been crying, and I'm tired, and I'm worried, and I'm suddenly asleep thanks to the stress.

I wake up to the disturbing sensation of not being alone any longer. My eyes fly open and I sit up, only relaxing when I see Spike sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me. Fear is replaced by confusion, and an absolute lack of words. The lights are off and I can't see him clearly. But even I don't need preternatural senses to pick up on two things: the musky scent of sex is clinging to him, as well as the acrid smell of liquor. I'm not sure what to say, so I don't say anything.

"We're pretty good nowadays at not letting on how bloody fucked up we are," he says after a while.

I laugh. I can't help it. "No we're not, actually," I say around the amusement. "We just think we are."

He turns his head, light from the window illuminating the side of his face enough for me to see the wry grin on his lips. "Maybe so," he concedes. "So I think my issues are stunningly clear, pet. What are yours, eh?"

I sit up a little more and lean my head against the wall behind the bed. "Hm, well according to my shrink? I have this compulsion to fix people. It has to do with the way...Glory made me, um, unfix people. You know?"

Spike shifts around until he's facing me and arches a brow. "Yeah? Think you got off easier than me."

"Guess I was due for a break," I say with a shrug, then I touch his arm and take a breath. "I really am sorry. I shouldn't have presumed...well, anything."

"Hell, Tara," he sighs. "You could be right. Not really the point."

My smile is more than a little sad. "I know; it's up to you to get there. I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that," he grumbles. "Heard you the first forty times." My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I see him purse his lips and scowl at me. "I do just want to point out that I never tried to _fix_ you, even at your worst."

I duck my head, because he's right. He never did try to fix me, just stayed by my side while I figured it all out. "Do you--do you need money?" I ask him. "To go, I mean. I don't have much, but I'm sure Olson--"

"I'm not leaving."

That kind of takes the wind out of my sails, and I'm not sure if it's good or bad. "Oh. Okay." I fiddle with the blanket bunched at my waist. "But, why not? I thought...I mean, the way you said..."

He sighs, and nudges me over on the bed, then swings his legs up and crosses his arms under his head. "Got nice and lit," he tells the ceiling. "Stole myself a car and started driving out of town. Didn't get very far."

I look up at the ceiling as well, and ask it, "Was that before or after the sex?" There's a long, surprised silence, and my lips twist. "Even a human nose can smell it. Plus, kind of your M.O. from what Faith's told me. You know, when you're...out of sorts."

"It was after," he admits reluctantly, something very annoyed creeping into his voice. "And speaking of Faith, what's the deal there? You two diving for muff?"

The ceiling is presented with my fiercest glare while Spike receives a sharp elbow to the ribs. "Faith is straight," I remind him. "Very, very straight."

He snickers, and I know he's about to bring up her random hops over the fence. "Except when she's bendy," he drawls and I have to roll my eyes. "So, have you plowed that--"

"Don't finish that sentence," I say sharply, turning away from the ceiling to scowl at him. "Things are about as sexual between me and Faith as they are between me and you."

A look of profound disappointment crosses his face. "Damn. Guess that means I should stop listening outside the door, then." My eyes widen and I gape at him, but he just winks and smirks, leaving me know idea of whether or not he's joking.

He pulls one arm out from under his head and brushes my hair back from my face. "She's a little possessive of you, is why I asked."

I scoot down the bed and lay on my side, propping my head up with my hand. "Hm. Faith isn't...used to having people in her life," I explain carefully. " And she generally has me to herself." He laughs, and there's something to it that conveys he knows how much of an understatement my words are. I stare at his profile and take a breath. "Spike?" He turns his head to the side and watches me. "Why...why didn't you leave?"

His eyes go to the ceiling again. "Really wanted to," he says shortly. "But I didn't keep you alive during our globe trotting just to let some poncey vamp take you out. When he's taken care of..."

"Thank you."

He shrugs uncomfortably and then sits up. "Let's get downstairs. Olson was on the phone with Giles when I got in. Might be something new."

*

Giles doesn't have anything new, per se. Just more details on Niall, including what I already figured out--that his magic gets drained quickly. He's also pretty strong, which Spike already figured out after fighting him. Niall is, after all, three hundred, which is older than Spike. With the magic, and his strength, and the number of vamps he can transport, it'll most likely take all of us to kill him. He also tells Olson that he'll get any information--however sketchy--on the meeting between Niall and the seer.

Olson tells Spike and me all of this as soon as we get downstairs, and he does his very best not to seem curious about Spike's departure, my crying, or Spike's reappearance. He fails, of course, because Watchers have some kind of built in desire to know things. But the fact that he tries, and that he doesn't ask, is really appreciated.

Faith's eyes are hooded as they travel from Spike, to me, and back again. "What's the call?"

Spike arches a brow. "I can do it," he says simply.

For a moment, Faith studies him dubiously, but then she nods in apparently satisfaction before going to the couch and flopping down next to Josh. Who, I notice, is munching on what looks suspiciously like the mini Snickers Crunchers from his stocking. Sure enough, when I look over it's obvious that he's rifled through it.

"Those are supposed to be for Christmas," I tell him wryly, moving to sit on his other side.

"I'm the male Slayer," he says importantly. "That gives me leave to plunder my own Christmas stocking a whole four hours before Christmas."

He holds out one to me and I take it, unwrapping the treat and realizing that I'm actually pretty hungry. I have no interest in rustling anything up, so I look at Josh. "I'm hungry. What about you?"

He nods, and Faith pipes in with, "I'm fucking starving."

They both stared at me for a long moment, and when it becomes obvious that I'm not about to get up and provide anyone with food, the pair of them zero in on Olson, who is busy quietly conversing with Spike at the table.

"Baaaaby," Josh singsongs, and Olson looks over with a grimace of annoyance. Endearments really aren't his thing. "We're hungry." He pouts cutely. "And battered." He flutters his eyelashes. "And willing to trade sexual favors for food."

I choke on my Snickers Cruncher, and Faith reaches across Josh to pound on my back. "Speak for your damn self," she snorts at Josh.

"Please," Josh retorts as I brush Faith away. "Like you don't think Eric is do-able."

"Can we please end this conversation now?" Olson says testily.

But we can't, because Faith has something to add. "Do-able has nothing to do with it," she says with a smirk, and a confident gleam in her eyes. "I just don't think he'd get the full effect of the experience seeing as how he's all about the co--"

"I'll feed you only if you stop right now," Olson says a little desperately.

Faith and Josh wink at each other. "Deal," they say simultaneously.

See, this is part of the reason I generally offer food, rather than waiting to be asked. And if I am asked, I generally say yes right away. It just goes better.

Olson bypasses the leftovers--which are seriously dwindling due to the amount of times everyone has eaten here in the last few days--and whips up some omelets for us. For the moment we're not in the midst of anything, even if just how much we are in the midst of something is visible in the way we stick close to prevent the shocking from the Leviglio and how we very carefully don't mention that we're in the middle of anything.

It passes quickly, and we're left in a thick silence that carries tension, fear and worry. For a while we discuss the situation at hand, but all we end up doing is just going in circles. We don't really have enough information about anything to talk about it...and even though I find myself more and more thinking that something about all of this is really off, I can't pinpoint how.

Faith is on edge. She's tensing and turning her eyes towards every random sound, and she's checking every few minutes to make sure her stake hasn't moved from the small of her back, where it's tucked in her waistband.

Spike is quieter than normal, and is frowning a lot. Josh keeps humming Christmas carols under his breath, the glint in his eyes making it obvious he's doing it less for the spirit of the holiday and more to thumb his nose at Niall. Olson looks to be one step away from clamping his hand over Josh's mouth if he even considers breaking into song. As for me, I'm trying to not think about the fact that someone has sicced Niall on me, and trying to stop thinking about what's off about all of this; I've learned from experience that the answer comes only after I stop seeking it.

All in all, we're a rather moody lot, and I'm still tired from my crying jag. So a few minutes after midnight, after Josh tries to ring in the holiday with an off-key rendition of _Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer_ and Olson effectively muzzles him, I turn in for the night. I hear Josh and Olson come up half an hour later and make their way to Faith's room, and I'm asleep not long after.

I wake in the middle of the night for no reason that I can determine. I didn't have a nightmare, and although Faith and Spike aren't being quiet downstairs in the living room, they're not being overly loud. From what I can ascertain, they're playing video games. Which is...well, it should seem odd, and it does. But at the same time it's really normal and it makes me smile.

The clock on my bedside table reads three in the morning, and I wish that Faith were already snoozing on the empty sleeping bag at the foot of the bed. Because waking her for Christmas tomorrow? Not going to be fun.

But there's no reason I should have woken up, and what's even stranger is that I keep looking at the mirror over my dresser. Am I expecting Khentimentiu to appear in it, like he did when Spike got his soul? I honestly don't know. But it's another thing to add to the various vague things floating in my head and waiting to coalesce into something tangible.

Sighing, I lie down again and go back to sleep.

*

The phone rings at eight in the morning. I know who it is without having to think very hard about it. Faith makes an ill-tempered growling noise from the sleeping bag and I snatch the phone from my bedside table.

"Merry Christmas, Dawnie."

"Tara!" she squeals. "Merry Christmas."

I leave Faith in the sleeping bag because she's already sleeping, and then head downstairs, making sure to take the last of the presents from my closet. Dawn is chatting away a mile a minute in my ear, and I smile as I offer up the requisite "yes, I'm listening" sounds. It usually takes a while before Dawn gears down to actual conversation.

The living room is empty. Josh and Olson probably headed to their place at first light and sent Spike upstairs to Faith's room. Musical beds. I set the presents under the tree and then sit down and just...bask in Dawn.

She is probably the most amazing person I've ever met. Really. Through all the pain and death and loss, there's emerged a young woman who is wise and mature, but still so young and silly. It's awe-inspiring.

It also makes me wonder how it happened. Because from what I understood, Dawn and her father weren't on very good terms before Spike sent her to live with him. That's changed, though. I don't think she'll ever be as close to him as she was before the divorce, or as close as she was to Joyce, but there's actually a relationship there now.

I missed out on its development, on account of being...um, insane when it was occurring. And I've never really been sure how to ask Dawn about it. When I first got back, she was a bit confused and sad because of cutting Spike out of her life. After she sorted that all out, I was hesitant to bring up another sensitive subject.

"Oh my god! I love you, I love you, I love you!" Dawn says excitedly after she opens my gift. "This is the best present ever. None can surpass it."

"This" is a DVD box set of the first season of her favorite show, a prime time soap/drama aimed at girls her age called "The Poconos". She's forced me to watch it a time or two, and I can't really see the appeal. But, then again, I'm sure adults said that about "Beverly Hills 90210" when I watched it.

"I saved the receipt in case you want to exchange it," I say with a grin.

"Exchange it?" she repeats incredulously. "That's just crazy talk."

She goes silent, probably worried that the crazy talk comment hit a little too close to home. "I was just teasing. I'm glad you like it. Can I open mine now?"

Dawn bounces right back into her holiday cheer. "Yes! Open it now, because Dad's taking me out to breakfast and we have to leave soon."

I dig around under the tree and find the brightly wrapped package that came in the mail last week from Dawn. There's a mountain of bows and curled ribbon on it, and it takes me five minutes and a pair of scissors to actually get them all off.

And when I do, I break into a huge smile. It's a mini portable MP3 player. I mentioned in passing after I re-enrolled at Sunnydale U that it was hard to study at the apartment because I needed music, but Faith was generally sleeping when I studied. And my Walkman is a tape player, and pretty much ancient.

"Dawnie! It's wonderful!"

"Do you like it?" she frets. "I mean, you're not just saying that?"

"Not at all. Now I can listen to music I like, instead of my old Tiffany tapes."

She laughs and we catch each other up before she has to leave for breakfast. I don't mention Spike, though I'm tempted to spill the beans and force his hand. But, you know, I can't really disregard a lesson I just learned last night.

Giles calls not long after, and our conversation isn't nearly as pleasant after the holiday wishes are done.

"Tara, why didn't you mention when we last spoke that Spike was back? And with a soul?" he asks guardedly.

I'm getting a little annoyed with the way people seem to think that I'm Spike's mouthpiece and that they have a right to know everything about him that I know. Which, yes, considering I wanted to tell Dawn about it all is a bit...contrary.

I head into the kitchen and start pulling out the pots and other implements required for the Chocolate Truffle Torte. "I, uh, wasn't sure he wanted you to know," I say plainly.

"Yes, well, while I understand that, I am still responsible for monitoring all of you for the Council. This type of information can't be held back."

I set down a pot more forcefully than necessary. "A visit from Spike is vital information?" I ask dubiously.

"A visit? He's not going to be staying?"

"No. As soon as...Niall is taken care of? He's leaving."

Giles seems nonplussed by this. "Oh, well, then. Good. If, er, his plans change and he decides to stay, I'll need to know." He took a breath. "The Council...suffice it to say that if they believe Faith to be keeping things from them, they would not react well."

There are a few reasons everyone is so understanding of Giles' situation and subsequent attitude, even though they're not the most understanding of groups normally. First, they know how close he was to Buffy, Xander, Willow and Anya. Second, he doesn't exactly have the nicest history with Faith. Third, despite the not nice history, he's the one who went to bat for her to the Council. He might say that it was out of necessity. That the Hellmouth needed a Slayer and she was all that was left. But if he'd honestly thought Faith couldn't handle the job, he wouldn't have done it.

And we all know that he still does stand up for her. It wasn't so long ago that a team of Watchers had been dispatched to, well, dispatch her. Giles supports her, even if he doesn't advertise that fact. But we know, because Faith is still here, and if it were up to the Council alone, she wouldn't be.

"We'll let you know right away if he changes his plans," I assure him quietly, then decide a change of subject is in order. "Did you, um, like your gift?"

"Very much so," he says immediately. "It was very thoughtful of you. But, really, I can't accept it. It must have cost a great deal, and you're in college again. You need to save your money."

"No, you have to accept it," I insist. "The problems with my scholarship? You know, since I kind of went AWOL? They seem to have...disappeared."

"Disappeared?" he repeats, confused.

"Hm. Strangely enough, it was after I mentioned it to Olson. I think he, uh, did something. He's got all those contacts because of his family. So I got the money I already paid refunded, and since I don't have to pay rent..."

"Tara," he says sternly. "You sent me a sixteenth century edition of Polit's Demonology. I am quite aware of the going rate for it. I shall send it back to you, but the thought means a lot to me."

"I got a discount. A, uh, huge discount." I do the math in my head while I upend a package of chocolate chips into a pan. "About...seventy percent."

"Seventy percent? Really?"

"Mm hm. The shop in Los Angeles where I looked up the Cerno? It's run by a really nice witch named Emily. She was impressed that I did it. And lived." That last part is the important part, because I'm the only documented success story for the ritual. "I put her and Josh in touch. She wanted to thank me because she's managed to save a lot of money using some of the Magic Box's suppliers, so...discount."

"Exorbitant discount," Giles say with shock. "Goodness. That's...well, then, I suppose I'll keep it. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Speaking of gifts, I have spoken to the delivery company, and they have tracked down my package for you. It should be there the day after tomorrow."

Olson and Josh get back just as I'm hanging up with Giles. "Anything new?" Olson asks, setting a bag overflowing with wrapped presents by the tree.

"No. But he's meeting with a contact of his today, so he'll call us after," I say.

Josh gives me a hug that lifts me off the ground, then grabs my hand and drags me to the Santa hats by the tree. I set his on his head, he sets mine on my head, and we grab Faith's before heading up the stairs. We hurry down the hall and he throws my bedroom door open. It slams against the wall behind it and Faith bolts into a sitting position, a knife in her hand. She tosses it aside when she sees us tripping towards her, giggling.

I plop the Santa hat on her head while Josh tickles her ribs and screams, "Merry Christmas!"

Poor Faith. I think she thought we'd let her sleeping until it was time to eat. She's staring at us uncomprehendingly, and is blinking very slowly. Josh and I each take one of her hands and pull her to her feet.

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, but she's trying not to smile in the face of our enthusiasm. Josh was right. There is too much daylight in our lives to just focus on the night. We trip into the hall, Josh and I towing Faith along, and I stop to look at Faith's door.

Faith's eyes widen. "You're nuts," she says incredulously. "Fucking nuts."

I look at Josh and a smirk appears on his face. "Think he sleeps nekkid?" he asks, tugging us to the door. He shoves me of front of them and nods. "Why don't you check on that, Ta? In the interest of..."

"Perversion?" I supply, wryly.

Faith shrugs. "Perversion, science. Same diff."

I roll my eyes. "I really don't have an interest at all."

"But we do," Josh says firmly. "And you're the only one he won't kill. Go."

"Fine," I sigh. Turning to the door, I smile. "Spike, what's the answer?" I ask in a normal voice.

"Yes, but I'm decently covered up now," he calls back, snickering.

Faith and Josh sulk a little as I chuckle and open the door. "Keen hearing," I remind them a little smugly.

Spike refuses to be drawn into the holiday cheer, despite Josh's attempts. But that's okay, because Faith doesn't seem to hate it, and that was really the point of it all. He does agree to come downstairs and join us while we partake of the cheer.

And, boy, do we partake. Josh seems to have made it his mission to force us to focus on the Christmas part of the day, rather than on the current Hellmouth events. And, you know, I'm not really complaining. It's a lot more enjoyable to engage in a tinsel fight with Josh than it is to discuss why someone is trying to kill me. It's also a lot more enjoyable to watch Spike slip into vamp face when Josh tries to wrap a line of garland around his neck. But, that's probably because I'm not the one getting growled at.

Faith falls asleep after we eat the ham Olson made, and we let her nap while I finish baking the torte. Then we eat slabs of dense chocolate goodness while we rip open gifts. Some of them are gag gifts, which is to be expected. But I really could have done without the...interestingly shaped, uh, "personal massager" that Josh made me open in front of everyone. I don't know if I'll be able to look anyone in the eye ever again.

Other than that, the gifts are pretty routine. They consist of normal Christmas givings--like CDs, and clothes, and witchcraft paraphernalia. Spike seems a bit embarrassed to take my offerings, and mutters something about not having any of his own. I wave that aside and tell him to open them. I replaced a couple of CDs that were stolen from his crypt that summer he stayed at Giles' with the rest of us, and got him a small bottle of high end tequila that cost more than Giles' rare book did.

And it turns out that the subject of Niall doesn't come up at all once Giles calls to say that his contact could provide no helpful information other than what he already knew. I consider this at around nine in the evening, when we're lazing on the sofa and loveseat watching _The Long Kiss Goodnight_, which is the only "Christmas" movie Faith would agree to watch. I think about bringing it up, but I don't want to. Maybe it's foolish. Stupid, even. But it's Christmas, and we're enjoying it.

There's time enough tomorrow for horror.

* 


	7. Chapter Seven

We spend the day after Christmas immersed in the Niall situation. There is no other topic of conversation, and ten minutes in, I'm wishing we were tinsel fighting again. There's something really, uh, depressing about hearing everyone discuss my life being in danger. And frightening, too. Especially since no one knows what, exactly, to do.

Josh and Olson decide that they're done crashing at our place, and I'm more than a little grateful. Our apartment is too small for five people. Way too small. They leave about an hour before sunset, more than enough time to make the ten-minute drive to their place.

After consuming some leftover ham, Faith wanders upstairs to shower, and I sit on the couch next to Spike.

"So."

He cuts his eyes in my direction and heaves a sigh. "What is it?"

I shrug a little. "Something seems...off about this," I confess.

Spike turns just his head in my direction and narrows his gaze. "But you can't quite put your finger on what," he says knowingly, nodding. "Feels like it's at the tip of my tongue."

Keeping my face purposely blank, I reach back and lightly slap at the back of Spike's head. His narrowed eyed gaze turns to a glare. "Did that work it loose?" I ask with a smile, then I rub his scalp a bit. "I like the longer hair. It's curly."

"Yeah, it is," he says with distaste, brushing my hand away. "When did everything start feeling off?"

"Hm." I take a moment to think about it. "When Niall showed up, I guess. That wind? It threw my bolt off target, which is...well, it _could_ have just been bad luck. But there wasn't any wind before. Or after. And it wasn't magically done. What about you?"

"While I was getting information," he tells me. "Some of the blokes seemed to be a little too chatty, if you know what I mean."

We retreat into a thoughtful silence until Faith comes down, her hair blown dry and her make up in place. She sits on the loveseat and pulls on her boots. "Olson and Josh call yet?" she asks absently.

I got still, and next to me I feel Spike do the same. "Um, no, actually," I say carefully.

Faith stops lacing her boots and looks up. "They said they'd call the minute they got home," she says tensely.

Her eyes wander to the window. Even though the curtains are drawn in deference to Spike, we all know it's past sunset. Faith bends down to her boots gain, her motions quick and efficient.

"I'm going out to look for them," she says flatly as she stands up. She points at Spike. "Stay here with Tara and stay by the--"

My cell phone chirps. It's sitting on the table, and the three of us turn to stare at it like it's a SUV doing fifty, and we're deer that just stepped into the road. A second later, a voice that does not belong to either Josh or Olson speaks.

"Very foolish to think daylight would prevent me from getting something." Niall, of course. "I want the witch. Sunnydale Arms in one hour. By the gaudy Uhlrich mausoleum."

He doesn't make a threat against Josh and Olson, but he doesn't have to. The phone chirps as the connection is broken, and I'm having a little trouble breathing.

"Damn," Spike mutters angrily.

It takes effort to tear my gaze from the phone and look at Faith, and when I do my breath leaves my lungs in a hiss. She's like nothing I've ever seen, this tightly wrought Slayer I'm staring at. Her eyes have emptied and her lips are thin.

"Let's go," she says blandly, walking to the closet and pulling out a denim coat.

"Faith..." I whisper.

She shakes her head. "No. Let's go."

I try again. "But--"

"I know," she interrupts me in a calm, eerie voice. "It's a trap. But I've been here before and I know what happens." She glances and me and Spike. "We go, because we can't not go. It's how Buffy got Willow back from me and the mayor. The only difference?" she asks with a shrug. "We're not handing you over."

"Maybe she shouldn't go, then," Spike suggests, watching Faith carefully. I don't blame him for that, because her manner is just...a little alarming, and makes me wonder if she's going to just explode with little provocation.

"She's going," Faith says as she pulls her jacket on and starts loading stakes. "We need the magic. And you're going, because I need the extra muscle. And all of us are going to walk away."

Spike gets to his feet slowly and carefully. "I'm not arguing with you," he says. "But tearing into the cemetery like this? It's not going to do anything but play into Niall's hands. We need something up our sleeve."

She pauses and eyes him skeptically. "Like what?"

He doesn't have an answer for her and truthfully neither do I. We're completely lacking in anything since we have so little information.

Faith takes a deep breath and runs her hands through her hair. When she lowers them, there are more than a few strands wrapped around her fingers. "It sucks," she announces. "I know it. But we have shit. And no time to track down anything else. And a clock ticking Josh and Olson's lives away. So we go and we stand and we make damn sure that we win."

She meets my eyes. "You may not have Willow's power, Ta, but you have power, and it holds out longer than Niall's does. That's an advantage." Her eyes move to Spike. "I've seen you fight like an animal, Spike. Ruthless. Unpredictable. That's an advantage." She points at her chest. "Me, I'm furious right now. A furious Slayer is a Slayer that doesn't give a damn about anything but making the kill. Advantage."

Her shoulders lift in a shrug. "And all three of us have been known to be a little crazy in the past. Big advantage, because it means we can think around things like other people can't." She looks at us intently. "We've got something up our sleeves. Us."

And for some reason, I'm buying it. Really buying it.

*

I shouldn't have bought it. If there's anything I've learned since I've gotten involved with Slayers and the Hellmouth, it's that what sounds good in theory will fall apart in practice.

Josh and Olson are surrounded by more than twenty vampires. Niall is standing off to the side of the group, and waves a hand as we approach. Seven vampires break away from the rest and close ranks behind us, putting Niall at our front and them at our backs.

Niall arches an eyebrow at the same time that Faith almost imperceptibly taps her hand against her thigh. "You're early, I hadn't--"

The vampires around Josh and Olson scatter, and Faith is off in their direction before they land. Spike spins around to face the vampires behind us, and I'm left to face off with Niall. At this point, not only am I not buying it, I'm thinking it's about to buy us. Or something else that makes more sense and describes how I think we're about to lose. A lot.

Niall smiles, and it's a baring of teeth. But he makes no move to stop either Faith or Spike, and that doesn't sit well with me. My skins tingles with electricity, and I toss up a strong barrier just in time to stop Niall's magic from slamming into my chest. He throws more at me, and my stomach churns. The barrier takes a lot to erect and maintain, and he's tossing weak bursts of magic at me. I'm going to tap out before he does.

I scan the area. Olson has been knocked unconscious. Faith and Josh are standing over him and fighting back the vamps, but because they won't leave Olson vulnerable, they're at a disadvantage. They can only hold the vamps off, instead of pushing them back and dusting them.

I don't want to turn my back on Niall, so I concentrate and try to hear what's going on behind me. I have no idea how Spike's doing, and the barrier is wavering in front of me. Niall smirks and sends the weakest bolt yet at me. The barrier manages to absorb it, but flickers out in the process.

There's something triumphant on Niall's face, and I realize he planned for this to happen. For me to get drained quickly, while he maintained a reserve.

"Enough," Niall calls out, and the vampires stop fighting.

Someone bumps into my back, and I crane my head just enough to realize that it's Spike. "I'm done," I whisper to him frantically.

"Shit," he mutters.

Faith and Josh are panting and eyeing the vampires warily. Josh drops to his knees to check on Olson, and Faith moves so that she's somewhere between me and the others. Niall rolls his shoulders and then speaks. "We both know you're empty," he says casually. "I could send another shot at you and take you down. Correct?"

Frowning, I nod hesitantly. Niall's eyes flicker to Faith and then Spike, who is standing beside me now. I get it. He could take me down, but he doesn't want to risk getting drained and having to deal with Spike and Faith. He holds out his hand, gesturing with his fingers that I come forward.

Why? I think he wants to...poof us out of there. Away from the others. So that he can kill me without having to deal with them. Spike turns around, eyeing Niall. "Don't even think of it," he growls at me.

I stare from Niall, to Faith, to Spike, and back at Niall. We're at a standoff. Outnumbered and still alive only because Niall has manipulated us. Niall makes a gesture, and then most of the vampires that are around Josh and Olson head at Faith.

She's good, but there's a lot of them, and she's distracted. Trying to keep an eye on Josh and Olson while she fights.

Spike and I look at one another. "Help her," I whisper.

His eyes darken. "Tara," he sighs helplessly.

And he's right. It's more of us playing into Niall's hands, but what other choice is there? "You can't not help her," I tell him, and he nods just once before speeding towards Faith.

Just as he gets to her side, twelve more vampires slide into the clearing around the mausoleum. They haven't just manifested. There was no shock from the Leviglio. No, they're what Niall had up his sleeve. Half surround Faith and Spike. The other half surround Olson and Josh.

I watch helplessly as Spike and Faith fight a losing battle. There's just too many, coming at them from all directions. Niall calls them off after a couple of minutes, and when the vampires step back I see that neither of them looks good.

Niall has managed to separate me from the others, but it doesn't really matter, does it? We talked the good talk earlier, but we're not the ones with the advantage. Niall is. He holds out his hand again, and I shake my head. "Maybe you need an incentive?" he muses, staring thoughtfully at Spike, whose face is battered and bleeding.

"No!" I exclaim. But he nods anyway and a vampire comes forward. Spike shifts into a fighting stance, and the vampire brandishes a large axe. "Don't!"

But the vampire trips. Just, trips. Which is unusual in and of itself. What's truly amazing, though, is that he lands directly on a branch in the grass. Heart side down. Just...dusted. Niall glares furiously at me, like I had something to do with it. Which I didn't, because I'm as tapped out as he thinks. I couldn't float a feather at the moment, much less trip a vamp and maneuver him to land like that.

In fact, unless the Leviglio has stopped working, I'm quite sure that nothing magical was involved. Just...bad luck? For our side?

"Kill the humans," Niall shouts, and I feel myself screaming as every vampire around us heads towards Josh and the still unconscious Olson.

There's a rush of cold bodies as the vampires from behind me move forward, and then a hand over my mouth. I'm looking into a pair of eyes that should be yellow to go with the fangs and ridges, but they're not. They're the green of soft moss and my own eyes go wide.

"Look and see," the vampire hisses. I struggle in her grip, but she tightens her hold and a flicker of amber sweeps through her eyes. "See!" she snarls, then releases me to join the other vampires.

But there are less than there were, I notice as I look around. Less vampires, because they seem to suddenly be exorbitantly unlucky? As I watch, another vampire falls on a branch. One steps into the path of a sword and beheads himself. But just before it happens, the vampire looks at me, eyes shifting amber and mouth wording what I think is "see".

I make a choked noise when a vampire, stretching out a claw to tear Josh's throat out instead rips another vampire's heart out. And just like the vampire who beheaded himself, this one looks at me as well. Ten more times it happens. Ten vampires killed through some kind of ironic type of bad luck. Ten more oddly colored eyes turning in my directions. Ten more mouths uttering the same words. This isn't bad luck. This is...something else entirely.

Spike and Faith aren't taking the time to wonder at any of it. They're fighting those that are still around and ignoring the oddity of the others. Which is good. Me, I'm suddenly looking in the direction of Niall. Because he's now just a few feet away from me, holding a long metal pole.

I stare at him. That's all I can do. He was--he was way over there a second ago, and now. Now he's right in front of me. And he's raising that pole. Raising it and aiming it at me. My left side. My heart. I say quick goodbyes, because--I'm going to die. I just am. That thing is going to impale me and kill me.

Niall thrusts the pole out and my eyes widen as my breath catches in my chest, in my throat. Then there's a burst of color. Bursts, actually. And I'm on the ground with Faith lying on top of me, facing me. There's panic on her features. Oh. And...pain. I tilt my head down and see it. The pole. Sticking out of the right side of her chest.

I hear a growl and look past her, shocked to see Spike on top of _her_, his back to hers.

"Get the fucking thing out," Faith hisses, slamming her head back so that it collides with Spike's.

He's trying. The pole impaled him through the heart, but it's metal. He's got it in hand and is pulling, but Niall is standing above us all, holding tight. "Shishkabob," he says, lips curling mirthlessly.

Faith braces her hands on the ground on either side of me, pushing herself up and sending the pole deeper through her. She grits her teeth and stares wildly at me, and I slide out from under her. Niall narrows his eyes on me. "Well, well. Looks like we've got an interesting little situation here."

He pushes on the pole and both Faith and Spike scream.

"Stop it," I shout. "Stop it."

"You've got a choice," he tells me, and it sounds like he's relishing every word.

There are tears in my eyes. Faith and Spike...oh god, they're in so much pain. And Olson is still unconscious, Josh standing over him protectively.

I hear Spike scream, an excruciated but furious roar, almost, and my eyes fly to him. He's got a hold of the pole. Oh, god. He's pulling himself forward, snarling as he moves along the pole. Faith is doing the same thing on her end, but she only needs two good tugs.

A vampire breaks out of the pack around Josh and runs at the wounded Slayer. She holds up a stake in one shaking hand, so far off the mark that there should be no hope. But I watch the vampire, see his foot land awkwardly on a rock and shift him towards the right, and I'm not surprised when his eyes meet mine just as he careens into the stake.

Niall is pounding on Spike, the pole tossed aside. Mercilessly and violently. Faith struggles to her feet and stumbles over, her right arm completely useless. But she throws herself at Niall anyway, and he swats her away like a fly.

My eyes move to Josh. He's holding his own, as the vampires are still strangely clumsy and awkward. But there are still nine of them, and even bad luck might not hold out that long. There's nothing I can do, because I'm tapped.

Niall's not, though. He looks up and locks eyes with me as he lands a powerful blow to Faith's midsection. Then he uncurls his fist and holds it out, and something black strikes me in the chest.

I'm about to shake it off--shake the dark magic out, when I change my mind. I look around, and it's like a big chessboard all of a sudden. I don't know who's playing who, or for what purpose, but considering that there's now only seven vampires left, I have to wonder if maybe the big hand moving us all around is actually on my side.

I take a breath, a deep breath, and I stretch out my energy until there's a way for Niall's magic to insert itself, and I draw it in. I draw that darkness in with my white. There's electricity in my veins, and I feel--oh, I feel everything. I want to--do a lot of violent, bloody things that all of these vampires deserve. Thing that will last a long time and hurt for even longer.

My own magic awakens. It's like a warm, soft sweater. And I unball the material and slide it over me. As it slips along me, it brushes away that darkness. I could have kept it. For another few moments, or forever. But I meant what I told Olson; I won't ever go there.

My magic is recharged at its usual level. It's not much compared to what I just felt in me, but it's enough to _see_ now that I'm trying to. It's around Niall's neck and it's like a beacon of darkness to my gaze that is strangely open to every bit of energy around.

Niall gathers some power, and I can see and feel it. A moment later there are another fifteen vampires in the clearing. They follow Niall's finger and head towards Josh. Faith is on her knees, gasping. Spike is on his feet, but only barely. No. No.

I hold my hand out, palm up, murmur quietly and watch the small ball of fire come to life just above my flesh. In the air all around me is the dark magic that I shook off. Just gathering itself in preparation for returning to Niall.

Niall's back is to me, and Spike is caught up in the fight. But Faith sees me, and her eyes widen. She throws herself flat on the ground as I lean forward and just blow that dark energy against the ball of fire. It shoots out angrily, catching the vamps who were about to get Faith, and she calls out to Josh. He waits until the very last second before tossing his body onto Olson's.

My hand moves again, and Faith is yelling at Spike, but he doesn't notice because the screams of the last of the burning vampires are so loud. She scurries forward on all fours and catches his ankle, pulling him down. But he knocks against Niall, taking the other vampire down with him, and my flame thrower misses Niall by an inch.

And with that, I'm done. Tapped out worse than before and having a really hard time breathing. I sway and my vision gets foggy. I'm going to pass out, but hopefully I've given us a chance to get away.

I'm forcing myself to stay on my feet when something--someone?--knocks me to the ground and wow, I'm getting kind of tired of that happening. I can hear someone yelling down into my face, and I think it's Niall. There's a hand around my throat. I flail blindly, trying to stay conscious, thrashing under the immoveable force that's settled on my thighs. My hand catches on something. The thing around his neck.

I can barely think, but I close my fingers around it and pull, and then everything goes black.

*

I wake up in a hospital room, and I stare thoughtfully up at the ceiling. I come to several conclusions. 1. Fluorescent lights are just plain evil. 2. My throat feels like I swallowed battery acid, it's so raw. 3. My neck seems to be swollen to several times its normal size and just hurts. 4. I have no idea what happened.

None of these things concern me overmuch. No, really. Because obviously I've been injured and am in the hospital, but I'm alive and awake and that's a very good thing. As for what happened...well, it'll come to me. Right now I'm in the really nice period of calm before memory returns and pokes at my shredded emotions with salty sticks.

I turn my head to the side and meet bright blue eyes. So ends the calm. The memories rush in and I reflexively grab at my throat, like the hands are still wrapped around it. My other hand reaches out for Spike. Because his face looks awful, and even though he's changed his shirt, I can still see that pole impaling him. He takes my hand, squeezing gently, and reaches out to coax my other hand from my throat.

"It's all right," he says quietly. "I'm fine, and you're fine."

It feels like I'm staring at things all wild eyed, which I probably am. I think my eyes get even wilder when I remember that the others were hurt as well. I open my mouth to ask him, but there's only a really guttural noise that comes out, and the pain is just...well, it's a lot of pain. I tighten my fingers around his hand and try to ask him with my eyes how the others are.

"Niall's dust, pet. Everyone's...well, they're not peachy," he admits, "but they'll be fine. Olson has a concussion and Josh is pretty bruised, but they weren't admitted."

That's incredibly good to hear. But what about Faith? I frown, and his lips quirk a little bit as he points to my left. I turn my head and see Faith. On the other hospital bed. Sprawled across it like she owns it, her uninjured arm slung over her head. She's snoring a little, something she claims that she doesn't do. But she does. It's cute, actually. Of course, her actually being on that bed, in a hospital gown, means her injuries were severe enough that she couldn't avoid it; getting Faith into a hospital--especially _this_ hospital--is not easily done. I start to panic at what kind of shape she's in, then remember the Slayer healing. She'll probably be good as new long before me.

My heart slows back down to a normal pace and I relax. Spike pours some water and even though swallowing is really not something I want to do, I drink some. It feels really good and really bad, to drink the deliciously cold water. But the sitting up is really tiring, and when I lean back, I have a difficult time keeping my eyes open.

"Sleep," Spike says, and I let my eyes close.

*

Two days later, I'm in the small laundry room at the back of the apartment complex. It took a whole lot of stubbornness to get here. The doctors said that I stopped breathing at one point, and it kind of scared the others. Consequently, they've been hovering close by while I recuperate, and refused until this morning to tell me anything about what happened after I passed out. But today I woke up and I could speak without excruciating pain, and I decided that I was leaving my room.

Apparently, I missed a bunch of stuff. There was something of an argument/debate about who, exactly, dusted Niall. Josh said that, in the end, it was decided that both Faith and Spike dusted Niall at the same time. Olson grumbled something about it taking four hours to come to that decision. I have opted not to ask for any details on that because with Faith and Spike, I know the entire argument/debate will start all over again if I do.

There was also a Discussion--and it has to be capitalized, because the look on Olson's face when he told me was just...capitalization worthy--about how I turned my cute little ball of fire into a flamethrower. Seems like Spike was the only one who didn't think I'd taken Niall's magic into myself. Everyone else didn't _want_ to think it, but they did anyway. I told them the truth of the matter and Spike spent ten minutes looking really smug before his face got all serious.

So, the laundry room. Where I have ostensibly come because Spike's clothing from New Orleans has germinated to a hazardous point. Where I have really come because I need a moment alone. There's a lot going on, even now that Niall has been taken care of. For instance, Spike's serious look means that tonight he's going to tell me that he's leaving. I have to prepare myself not to try to convince him to stay. Because he's made a choice that's his to make, and even if I think it's not a good choice, I need to let him make it. Also, despite research, the others haven't been able to figure out just what was going on with the clumsy vampires in the cemetery.

I close the washing machine lid on Spike's clothes, and then start loading the regular laundry into the second machine. My clothes from the hospital are in a plastic bag, and I upturn the bag into the basin. Something clanks against the metal bottom and I reach in and pull out a necklace of some kind. My eyes widen as I realize that it's what was around Niall's neck in the cemetery. Another thing to think about while the clothes get all summer breeze fresh.

The chain is gold, thick and finely made. There's a circle of--I think it's obsidian. Frowning thoughtfully, I turn it over in my hand and look at the front. Oh my. Absently, I close the lid on the second load and start the machine. I think I might need a little more thought time, so I slip the necklace into my pocket and head to the courtyard. I don't actually get the time.

Just after I sit down on one of the wrought iron chairs, Khentimentiu's Keepers materialize in the courtyard, Khentimentiu's astral form flickering into existence a moment later. If anyone had asked me ten minutes ago if I thought they would show up again, I'd have said no. But seeing them, and thinking about the necklace, a whole lot clicks into place.

However, I _am_ surprised at Marianna's appearance. I can think of only one reason why she would be here, and I'm not sure why Khentimentiu would want her to bring me to him in person.

"Hi," I say easily, waving at the five of them.

Khentimentiu, ever the gallant supposed god, nods regally at me. "Will you join me for tea?" he asks politely, gesturing at Marianna.

I get to my feet. "I'd love to."

His rooms at his buried temple are just as modern and technologically stuffed as I remember. The jukebox is playing a classical selection whose name I don't know; I was never really one for classical. But it's pretty, and soothing, and it makes me think that he believes I haven't put it all together yet. I can't really blame him. It takes a while before people figure out that my mind works a lot faster, and smoother, than my mouth does.

But the clues were all there. The very specific information the seer fed to Niall, the item Niall was after that Spike just happened to have seen in New Orleans the week before. Niall being told to target me, specifically.

There is an ornate tea service set up on the coffee table in front of one of the black leather couches. "Please, sit," Khentimentiu invites me, and I do. He settles beside me and pours two cups of tea. His Keepers are situated at the edges of the large room, their seemingly blank gazes undoubtedly aware of every thing around them.

I take a sip of the tea he offers and smile. "This is good. Thank you." He returns the smile and takes his own cup from the table. "You know, for the ruler of the destiny of the undead?" I say quietly. "It's kind of...tacky to manipulate a human into doing your dirty work for you."

He was just taking a sip of tea when I spoke that last part, and he chokes slightly. Even his choking is somehow understated and royal. A bronze hand reaches back to the table for a napkin, which he dabs at his mouth.

"I've killed for lesser accusations," he murmurs quietly, taking another sip of tea.

"Good thing there aren't any humans around to kill me for you," I say teasingly. There's a noise from Lisimba's side of the room, and a quick glance shows me he's trying not to smile. I set my cup and saucer on my knee and watch as Khentimentiu tries to decide whether he's furious or amused by my insolence.

He decides to be amused. Which I kind of knew he would. See, I'm starting to understand him a little. I think he's rather protective of his charges. The dead and the undead alike. Spike said that Gahiji told him Khentimentiu is particularly concerned about motivation when considering petitions for his favors. It would also explain why he had a little temper tantrum when Faith tried to claim Spike, but seemed pleased when and why I did so. I also think he allowed Willow and I to talk during the Cerno just as much for her benefit as for mine.

"When I brought your beloved back," Khentimentiu says blandly, "I acted as a conduit and her soul passed through me. I thought it was merely...a skewered view of someone who loved you, the impression she gave of your brattiness."

"Not really," I say abashedly.

"Yes, I've noticed it of late," he drawls, leaning back on the sofa.

I narrow my eyes and lean forward to put my cup on the table. "You've been watching Spike?" I ask cautiously.

"At first," he admits, also putting his tea aside. "But your pack is rather like a soap opera of sorts, isn't it?" I toss him a sharp look and he reads it expertly. "Never fear. Your privacy is yours again."

"Good." I take the necklace out of the pocket of my skirt and study the marking. "It's your glyph, but...not."

I mean that literally. The small character in front of his glyph acts at a negative or anti. He holds out his hand and I pass him the necklace. "It negates my influence," he says once it's safely in his possession.

That's pretty much what I thought. Unable to rein Niall in, Khentimentiu was forced to work with those he could still influence. I've no doubt that the "seer" who visited Niall was one of Khentimentiu's people. But the problem was that even with Faith's strength and my magic, we couldn't have stopped Niall. He needed Spike there, too, and he knew I would be able to get him there. And, really, what better way to get Spike to focus on the situation than to have Niall target me?

"This wasn't about, um, taking down someone who escaped from under your thumb," I say with certainty.

He leans back, a small, pleased smile at his lips. "No, it wasn't. It was about a vampire who thought to thwart his own destiny, who tried to meddle with others'." He cocks his head to the side. "There is a saying among your kind, about nothing being inevitable except for death and taxes. For my kind, only one of those is truly inevitable."

Everyone has a path. How they walk it, and how they divert from it, is where free will comes in. Some things, though, are beyond our intervention. Things involving other people usually are, and some of the big things involving ourselves generally are. Death definitely is. I can't imagine what kind of knots Niall tied in the skein that is destiny.

"Can...can I ask you a question?" I venture hesitantly.

"You can ask," he says slowly. "But I may not be able to answer."

I decide to keep things as general as possible, in the hopes it will increase my chance of getting an answer. "Why is it that there are vampires who are--who don't seem to be under your dominion?"

I've been curious about this for a while. Spike dismissed Khentimentiu's supposed influence over vampires as the bragging of an ego maniac. He brought up a valid point, though. Angel has never mentioned that one of the Powers That Be is an ancient shapeshifting vampire.

Khentimentiu's face grows thoughtful, and a bit shady. The god is about to answer something he isn't supposed to, in such a way as to not actually divulge anything he shouldn't.

"Dominion is not as clear cut as you think," he says carefully. "In general, I control the destiny of the dead. Some of these individuals, however, are more than dead, or undead. They are...champions, for example." He blinks slowly at me and I raise a placid brow. "No one can serve two masters. Certain of the dead answer to others." He waves a negligent hand. "There are even living beings whom I have dominion over due to a connection of some kind they have to my realm."

"Spike could be a champion," I say forthrightly.

Khentimentiu shakes his head. "No, in fact, he could not." I'm prepared to argue this, but he continues to quickly for me to speak. "The definition differs between my kind and yours. Spike may very well perform acts of a champion in the future, but he will never _be_ a champion."

Once again I phrase my question carefully. "What makes someone a champion to the Powers That Be, then?"

"There is a certain level of fanaticism that must be reached," Khentimentiu explains. "Rage. Grief. Guilt. These emotions are usually responsible for it. But whatever triggers it, the result is that it opens the individual to the desire to go to great lengths, sometimes partially blinded to that which he would ordinarily see."

He narrows his eyes at me and I nod, because I understand where he tried to lead me with his answer. By blinding someone in that manner, you make the person the perfect plaything, the perfect _tool_, really. So I guess I get it. Spike will accept himself and go from there, not leaving himself open to being manipulated. However, I think...I think he might be a hero, and I think that might be something even better than a champion. But that's just my opinion, and I think Khentimentiu is done clearing matters up for me.

"Thank you for answering," I murmur. "Oh. And for not getting angry. About the tacky comment."

Khentimentiu smiles a little self-depracatingly. "Let's keep my rather tame reaction between us, shall we?" he says drolly.

I grin at him, and he returns it. "I really need to get back," I say regretfully. "They'll be worried." He gets to his feet and holds out a hand. I take it and let him help me to his feet. "Thank you for the tea."

He brings my hand to his mouth and kisses it gallantly. "I am in your debt," he says solemnly. "Remember that."

I nod, because I mean to do so. Having a supposed god owing me a favor? No too shabby.

Khentimentiu waves a hand, gesturing to our left, and I turn and watch Marianna arrive via a passageway, a seed already out and some of its coating already on her finger. I blink a little in surprise, and look at Khentimentiu. He smiles mysteriously and bows.

Shaking my head, I wave at each of the Keepers, then go to Marianna.

*

Spike is the only one in the apartment when I get back, and I catch him pacing in the living room. "How long does it take to put a load of laundry in?" he grumbles, relief flashing briefly across his face.

I'd admonish him for being paranoid, but this _is_ the Hellmouth. "I needed some space," I say, which is true. Unfortunately, since I didn't get it, I don't know how ready I am to just let him leave.

Spike latches on to my words. "Space. Speaking of it and all--"

"I'm kind of thirsty," I interrupt. I grimace a little as I swallow. Perhaps I overdid the talking today. "Let me just get some water. Do you want some blood?" I ask solicitously as I head to the kitchen.

He frowns impatiently at me. "Yeah, fine."

I take my time, emerging with a bottle of water and a mug of heated blood. Spike sets the mug aside as soon as I hand it to him. I sit on the sofa and look up at him. "So. Space."

"Space," he repeats, nodding. "Appreciate the blood and mayhem," he says dryly. "But I think it's time to...move on."

I take a long sip of water. "Is that what you want?" Spike is smart enough to know the semantics of the question. _Want_ is the key word. He levels a stern stare at me and I smile. "It's a valid question," I point out.

A dozen expressions chase each other across his face, and they don't look like they'll be stopping soon.

"If it is," I tell him, "then you should." I bite my lip. "But if it's--well, for another reason? You should, uh, give it more thought."

I think that's a nice balance between offering support and fixing. He rubs his forehead and sighs. "Tara--"

The doorbell rings and I stand up. "Hm, can you hold that thought?"

He nods, and I go to the door and open it. I simply stare at the person on the other side. Because she's not supposed to be here. Hank Summers agreed to a kind of Dawn time share that's like shared custody. We had her for Thanksgiving. Christmas was his.

She's also not supposed to be furious, but she is, and I want to groan when I realize that Giles probably told her what I didn't. That Spike is here and he has a soul.

I open the door further and step back. Dawn steps inside and I close the door, watching Spike. He's staring at her with eyes that are shocked, sad, and a little bit...hungry. Not in an ooky way. Just like he's remembered exactly how important Dawn is to him, and how much he's missed her. It's a toss up which of them looks the angriest when the reality of the situation sets in.

Spike glares at me. "Damn it, Tara!" he explodes. "Is this how you stop fixing things?"

"I'm not responsible for this," I insist. "And I didn't tell her."

"No, you didn't," Dawn says sharply, her eyes accusing. "Why didn't you?"

I suppose I could answer her, and then sit down and moderate things between them. But that would probably fall under the category of trying to fix things I have no business trying to fix. So I take my coat from the closet and shrug at Dawn.

"Ask Spike. I'll be at Olson's."

When I call two hours later, to ask one of them to get the laundry from the laundry room, Dawn's sniffling. When I call back later that night to let them know that Faith and I will be staying with Josh and Olson, she's giddy. Smiling lightly, I hang up the phone.

"Reunion's going well, I take it," Olson comments as I join him and the others at the dining room table to continue our fight-filled game of Trivial Pursuit. We broke out the board game after I filled them in on my visit with Khentimentiu.

"Hm," I murmur, looking at the board. I grin at Faith. "You got yellow pie. I'm jealous."

She shrugs and makes some kind of dismissive snorting noise--which is a lot less cute than her snores are. But her eyes, before they slide away, kind of brighten a bit. I just adore her. Faults and all.

Josh gets my attention with a frustrated exhalation of air. "Tara, let's refresh our memory here," he says slowly. "Do we like cryptic?" My lips twitch, but I manage to say no in a properly serious tone of voice. "Good, that's the right answer. Now, let's try this again."

He points at Olson, who sighs and reluctantly says, "Reunion's going well, I take it."

Everyone's watching me expectantly. "Hm," I murmur, and pick up the dice. "Is it my turn?"

Josh points menacingly at me. "I hate you."

"You're a dipshit," Faith exclaims. "Would she have smiled if it was going _bad_?" She snatches the dice from my hand. "And it's my turn. See, yellow pie. Means I got the question right. Means I go again. We all clear on _that_?"

"Crystal," Olson drawls under the weight of her ill-tempered glare. "Roll."

"Hm," I murmur.

Josh picks up my token and dumps my two pieces of pie on the floor. He settles back on his chair and crosses his arms. I stare at him. He scowls at me. I furrow my brow and start to get up. He leans down and picks up the pieces.

Life is pretty good, all things considered.

*

The next evening it's me and Spike at the apartment. Faith is on her first round of patrol, and Josh and Dawn left early this morning to hit the after-Christmas sales at the mall. They're both a lot braver than I am.

The sun's only been down for half an hour when Spike interrupts me in the middle of cleaning up the remains of our dinner. "Fancy a swing, luv?"

I stop and turn to him. That summer after Willow and the others died was just horrible for me. Nothing made sense in my head, but I remembered that it _used_ to all make sense. That sensation alone would have been frustrating enough, but then there was also the fact that I couldn't seem to vocalize things properly. Everything was random and illogical when it came from my mouth, and I didn't understand why no one else knew what I was trying to say.

But Spike would take me to the park sometimes. I don't know what prompted him to do it the first time, I'm just glad he did. While I was just flying up and down on that seat, my hands clasping the cold chains, things...well, I don't know if they made sense, or if none of the chaos mattered. I just know that I felt calm.

"Yes," I say softly.

Spike pushes me for a while, and it's comfortable and familiar. And it makes me feel good about myself, and about the recently souled vampire who's holding some of his strength back as he sends me soaring.

Things eventually settle, either on their own or with a little help. If I've learned anything in the time since the others died, it's that. It may not settle into something expected or wanted, but it does settle. But if there's something else I've learned, it's that settling isn't everything. There's also moving on, or moving past, or just plain moving.

That we can be in the park, on the swings, and not simply be reminded of that summer and those losses, means that maybe we did something right while we were stumbling around cluelessly.

"Higher," I call out.

"Fine, but only a little," he grunts back.

When I descend, I hold tighter to the chain, and he puts a little more muscle into the push. Oh, and I remember this, too. Swings are limited. I'll only go so high before there'll be an abrupt jerk that drags me down. It's not the descent that I dislike. It's the abrupt jerk. Smooth, flowing motions are good.

Before that abruptness can interrupt anything, I let go of the chains. Spike catches me so effortlessly that not even the being caught is abrupt. It's just all very seamless. Maybe that's why my awkward mind really liked this when I was insane. It's not half bad when I'm sane, either.

The difference in that moment after he catches me is that I'm laughing, and so is he. His face is level with my stomach, and his head is upturned, and I look down at him and giggle until he has to lower me because I'm going to fall if I keep it up.

We wander back over to the swings, and Spike takes a seat on one, then pats his lap. I sit down and lean back on him, and his toes send us into an easy little gliding motion.

"I'm glad you're staying. Really glad," I add for emphasis.

"Rather figured that out from the way you've been smiling all day," he drawls sarcastically.

"So, um, what happened? After I left yesterday?"

He makes a noise of derision. "Bit's gotten a sharp little tongue on her since I saw her last," he says idly. "Ripped me to shreds with it."

I nod approvingly. "Good for her. You _were_ being really stupid about it all."

"Easy for you to say. And her," he adds. "Not an easy thing to adjust to, you know. Bound to cause some confusion."

"And stupidity."

He chuckles and we swing quietly for a bit before he breaks the silence. "You realize Faith's not too happy about my hanging around?"

"Hm. She'll get over it eventually. I hope."

"It's not that simple. Having me here is going to make a lot of things worse for Faith," he says slowly, his voice quiet. "Before I left, she and I were--well, friends would be an exaggeration, but we got on well enough. After that, it was you and her...don't even know if there are words to describe what kind of dynamics are flying there." I can feel him shrug behind me. "And now? I'm not the same vamp she got on well with. And you and I...well, that's a whole other set of dynamics, isn't it? Faith is probably never going to figure out where she fits in with it."

I drop my head back and sigh. With Spike, we've seen so much of each other that it's...easy for us to know what's going on with the other. But I'm not halfway insane, and Faith's not broken down, and I can't fix things.

Spike wraps an arm across my stomach and kind of hugs me. "You--"

"I know," I interrupt quietly. "I don't think I can stop, though. I'm not trying to fix her...just make her feel okay. To be her."

"Need to stop letting her depend on you so much," he says. "You might think it helps her, but it's just a crutch." I crane my head back and he taps me on the nose. "What? Did you forget that I know, too?" I chuckle a little, and he presses a kiss to my forehead. I scoot around, and Spike--well, he knows. Just like he said. So he does most of the work to turn me around so that I'm straddling his thighs and facing him. Which sounds a lot more, uh, intimate than it is. Because it's not. Well, it is. But it's not sexual. At all.

"Faith isn't a people person, pet," he tells me after a long silence. Such a trite little phrase to describe her utter inability to associate with people beyond the casual, beyond the fleeting. No one was there to teach her how to deal with her emotions, so she...doesn't. Instead she closes down, turns on the attitude, and tries to push us away until she can pretend that she can handle everything. "She wants to be, probably more than _you_ want her to be. But she's got some pretty strong safeguards in place."

I ask a question I've been wondering for a while. "Is it hopeless?"

"No. But the chance of success? Don't know that it's more than marginal."

I tip back and he shifts his hold on me so that his hands are bracing me at the small of my back. Everything's all perpendicular at this angle, a little strange but still recognizable. His words should discourage me, but they don't. If I can be the sole success story for a ritual that's been around for thousands of years, and if a vampire who earned his name torturing people with railroad spikes can go out and get a soul, then Faith can come out from behind her safeguards.

"Sounds like our kind of odds," I murmur to the night sky.

Spike bends forward to look me in the eyes. "Guess they do."

*

End


End file.
